


Passenger

by padawanhilary, zillah975



Category: Real Person Fiction
Genre: AU, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-05
Updated: 2007-01-05
Packaged: 2017-10-05 18:12:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/padawanhilary/pseuds/padawanhilary, https://archiveofourown.org/users/zillah975/pseuds/zillah975
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's kind of a Cinderella story with a fast car, sushi, and prostitution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Passenger

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimers:** We do not own, know, or be either of these people. You don't seriously think Keanu Reeves is a whore or Mark Lutz a corporate freak, do you?
> 
> Credit for the title: [Deftones](http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/deftones/passenger.html)

Keanu sits on the corner, legs crossed, pack of cigarettes in the space in front of his crotch. He smokes idly, flicking ashes into the gutter. He's bored. He doesn't want to be here, but he's running low on cash. He's trying to present a little class tonight: black leather pants, gray ribbed turtleneck, black bomber jacket. Maybe he'll bring in someone with money. He's tired of twenty-dollar blowjobs in back alleys just so he can buy a little whiskey or pay for the use of the naked lightbulb and the toaster in his apartment. He really wants something more this time.

_Nothing saying I'm gonna get it, either,_ he sighs to himself, but there's no use bitching and moaning. He's here, now, and nothing else has panned out. So he waits and smokes, hoping it doesn't get too cold tonight.

Shrugging his jacket closer around him, Mark glances around for a cab and wonders if it was a dumb idea to ditch his friends before they made it back to his car. But Christ Jesus there's only so much a guy can take, and if he'd had to listen to one more giggling girl try to chat him up for a drink he thought he might go on a killing spree.

"Do they _know_ white dresses show their underwear in ultraviolet lights?" he mutters irritably, popping his collar up against the wind, and as he rounds the corner he almost trips over a guy who's just sitting there, gives surprised little yelp as he does a quick skip and stumble backwards. "Fuck! Hey, sorry," he says, trying to get his balance again. "I didn't see you."

Keanu looks up, boots to jeans to sweater to hair, and does the thing his pals call the magic wand trick: he assesses, in a handful of seconds, that the guy's a prep, maybe even Academy. If he carries cash, he carries too much because who the hell walks around like this except someone who's never been mugged? If he doesn't carry cash, he's got a buck and a half from some Starbucks transaction and a handful of credit cards and an ATM.

"It's okay," Keanu says, unfolding his legs and standing smoothly. "I'm the one sitting on the sidewalk like an asshole. Sorry." He shoots the guy a flash of a grin and moves to the bus sign to lean against the pole. He isn't even gonna give this one the hard sell. Academy-or-other preps don't buy whores. They just don't.

Now that Mark sees him, he doesn't know how he could have missed him. Lean and dark-eyed, and the leather jeans fit him like they know who's boss -- the guy isn't trying, he just is. He looks like everything Mark ever wished he were and knows he'll never be.

He coughs a little to clear his throat and nods to the sign. "I uh -- don't think the buses run this late, man," he says. "You need a lift? I was just heading back to my car, I could drop you somewhere."

_You've got to be kidding me._ "Uh. I wasn't actually waiting for the bus," Keanu points out, and gives a sly little grin. He digs into the pocket of his jacket for cigarettes and lights up matter-of-factly, eyes on the prep's all the while. "But thanks."

"You w--?" and Mark's eyebrows pull together, just for a moment, and then he says, "Oh," eyes going a little wide, and "...oh," and he almost steps back, then doesn't.

The guy can't mean what it seems like he means, surely. He looks like any other guy, if every other guy looked like he just walked out of one of Mark's fantasies, and he feels a hot twist in his gut, remembering blue eyes and a sibilant voice in his ear, _you know you do, Lutz...c'mon, no one'll ever have to find out, it's just you and me here,_ before he'd bolted, same hot twist like the sickening feeling at the drop of a roller coaster.

The words are out before he gives himself time to think about it. "I uh -- could give you a ride somewhere anyway, if you wanted."

Keanu lowers his eyes, taking in the prep's appearance. Nice. Really nice. Fit in that way that implies he's done sports and eaten careful portions of yogurt and granola, maybe. _But he looks like a trapped rabbit,_ Keanu reminds himself. Still, it could be fun. Chat a little. And if he has to walk back up here, then he has to walk back up here, but Keanu isn't sure this guy wouldn't be down for a little action. The scared look is tempered by a decent handful of fascination, and that's always promising.

"Okay," he decides slowly, taking one last drag off his cigarette and crushing it out in the gutter. "Yeah. But I live way up on the other side." He points, a sort of warning: _you're gonna be in the car with big bad me for a while, man._

"That's okay," Mark says with a nod. "My car's just a few blocks," and he starts walking again as the guy falls into step beside him. "Oh, my name's Mark, by the way," he adds, extending his hand in that weird sideways handshake people use when they've forgotten that part 'til they're already moving again, and he can't quite believe he's doing this because what if the guy _is_ what it seemed like maybe he was saying he was, what then?

Mark almost laughs to himself through the twist in his gut. _Then I'll give him a ride to his house and drop him off and go the hell home, and he'll go back out and find someone who knows how to proposition a hustler._

Keanu blinks briefly; people don't generally offer to shake his hand. "Keanu," he says, bracing for the _Wow, that's a wild name / What does it mean? / Are you really Hawaiian?_ conversation.

He's wondering, now, if he might actually get somewhere with Mark. It's chancy, going off with him like this based on a big fat _maybe._ It drags him way up on the other side of town, and he doesn't have cab money back. _Shit. I guess I can take the subway._

"That's a great name," Mark says. "Say it again?"

Mildly surprised again, Keanu repeats it: "Keanu." And then he smiles faintly. He's kind of...charming, this guy.

"I like that," Mark says. "It sounds, um..." and he frowns a little, and gestures vaguely. "Foreign but accessible both, y'know? Where's it from?"

"Hawaii." Keanu pauses; might as well answer this one in advance. "Means 'cool breeze over the mountain.'"

"Yeah?" Mark grins. "That's great. That's very cool. Well -- no pun intended." He half shrugs and goes on, "'Mark' is supposed to mean 'defender', or maybe 'hammer' depending on who you ask," and he chuckles softly, shaking his head. "Except for one website that listed the meaning as 'the author of The Gospel According to Mark', which I thought was just excessively brilliant on their part."

He coughs again and laughs. "Sorry -- spent most of the night bathed in fucking dry ice smoke. I thought that shit went out in the nineties."

"That sucks," Keanu says. He has no idea what to add to that; advice and comfort are things Keanu's always blown at. Is this an advice-or-comfort situation, anyway? Dry ice smoke at a nightclub? "'Mark,' though, that's all right," he goes on. "It's a lot easier than 'Keanu.'" Keanu laughs shortly.

"Yeah, but not half as cool," Mark answers. "I kinda like 'defender' though," he adds, frowning a little. "Not sure why. But yeah, so you're in a room and someone calls out, 'Mark!' and half the guys look up. It's funny and and a little irritating both." He grins and shakes his head. "There are worse problems to have, though, I guess," he says as they approach the block his car's parked on.

"That's me there," he says, nodding to a dark green Spyder, its tan top raised, and then, "So what do you do when you're not out not waiting for buses?"

It isn't until the words are out of his mouth that he realizes it may not be the best question, but hell, it's too late to take it back, and he _is_ curious. Something about Keanu makes Mark think he's no dumbass. He wants to know something, find out something about him besides how good he looks in leather before he winds up dropping him off and never seeing him again.

The phrasing makes Keanu huff a little laugh into the heel of his hand. "That's something I don't tell people on the first date, man," he grins, and shakes his head. "My day job's a bore, let's put it that way. For fun? I go the park and play chess." Shit, and Keanu's got no idea why he said that, but there it is. Maybe it makes him more of a _well-rounded_ whore. Who knows.

"Yeah?" Mark says, gesturing with the keyless entry and there's a little bleat as the alarm system disarms. "Man, now see that's a cool game, and I totally suck at it. I get my ass kicked every time I try," and he laughs, shaking his head. "It's humiliating, but I just keep plugging away at it and keep getting obliterated. How long've you been playing?"

"Since I was a kid. Uh. Like fifteen years, maybe longer."

Keanu can't help a little whistle as he gets into the car. "This is sweet," he says, totally, suddenly distracted and a little awed. He's trying to keep himself from running his hands all over the leather seats and playing with the console.

"Thanks," Mark says with a grin, and the engine rumbles quietly when he turns the ignition. "It was a present to myself when I got my first big promotion."

And he's more glad than ever now, watching Keanu wanting to touch it, that he'd gotten the Maserati instead of the BMW sedan his dad had tried to talk him into getting, even if half the reason was that his dad had played the _I gave you this promotion_ card after it was too late for it to do him any good. _He should've played the "I'll _give_ you the promotion" card if he'd wanted me to do what he said,_ he thinks as checks traffic and he pulls smoothly away from the curb.

"All right," he says, "you're my navigator. Where'm I going?"

"You have to get on 57th and go way down," Keanu explains, dreading the walk back already, and then he decides he might as well just get something out of this, even if it's not a trick.

"Look," he says flatly, turning toward Mark, "do you want to...I don't know. Get a drink?" _Shit,_ he thinks, mentally tallying up how much money he's got left to last him to the end of the week, but it's too late, now. "I mean, since we're kind of...I know you're probably not interested in coming back to my place, and that's cool, but..." He shrugs. "It's early."

Mark blinks, startled. _Why wouldn't I?_ he wonders, and starts, "I'd come back to--" then stops, suddenly uncertain, wondering if it means something whether he would or wouldn't, so he backtracks. "A drink'd be good, though," he says. _Figure the rest out later._ "I'm uh --not so familiar with this part of town," he goes on, slowing for a yellow light and easing to a stop as it goes red. "My friends are the -- you know, the downtown crowd," and he wrinkles his nose at himself in a shy little grin. _Terminally unhip, Lutz,_ he thinks, but says, "Is there a place you like?"

_My place,_ Keanu sighs inwardly. "Yeah. I mean...well, they're all dives down here. Not the...you know. The dry-ice kind of place."

"Well, I don't mind dives," Mark says. "And dry ice is a fucking blight on humanity," and he can feel himself skittering towards the edge of something but he doesn't even grab for a handhold as he goes, because the tiny sportscar is just small enough to put Keanu in reach and the only thing Mark wants to grab for is him, that soft turtleneck, the leather jeans, the skin beneath, even if he doesn't know what the hell he's doing. "But, you know, if you wanted to, we could just, you know. Stop by the liquor store and not worry about bars. If you wanted." His chest is tight and he concentrates on breathing, and the light turns green, and he accelerates slowly through it, picking up speed.

_Could you give me a more perfect opening?_ Keanu wonders, and then has to make himself back off the idea again. Mark's cute and nice and so...very...fucking..._not_ the kind of guy who picks up boys waiting on buses. But Jesus. Going home alone does not sound like the thing right now. Going home with Mark...

"Yeah, actually," he says, "that sounds good. We could grab a bottle of something. I mean, my place is a dive, too..." Suddenly he's reminded of what a rat's nest it is, all the computer parts scattered all over the place, the dry-erase board and the papers tacked up everywhere, contacts, phone numbers, pizza boxes. "And a mess," he adds. _Who cares? This guy's not even a john. He's just a guy wandering around the wrong side of town._

_A guy wandering around on the wrong side of town I could totally dig eating alive,_ he amends, glancing over at Mark again. The cut of his clothes, the way he handles the car...it's not just about money, it's about style. God, and just sheer, honest heat. It might be a bad idea. It _is_ a bad idea. "But yeah, we could hang out."

"I don't mind a mess," Mark says. "You should see my place -- it's a wreck except on the weekends," and he shoots Keanu a smile that barely covers his nervousness

Because what the hell is he doing here, anyway? _If he really is a hustler there's no way he just wants to hang out,_ Mark thinks, and there's a hot clench in his stomach, wondering what that means. Mark doesn't carry cash, not more than twenty bucks for cab fare or a parking garage, and Keanu doesn't seem like a twenty-dollar kinda guy to Mark. He's damned good-looking, for one thing, and smart enough to play chess and who knows what else, and he walks like he could handle anything at all. Not the arrogant "I could buy you and sell you" strut some of Mark's friends affect, nor Mark's own sort of shy "I'm just here for the two-dollar microbrews" slope, but a confident stride that makes Mark think he must know exactly what he's doing all the time.

_Wish I did,_ he thinks, and he points towards a liquor store without taking his hand off the wheel, afraid it'd be shaking. "We're in luck," he says, and pulls into the small parking lot. "So what do you drink?"

The fuck is Keanu thinking, taking a guy who isn't even a john up to his place? This is ludicrous. But...Jesus Christ, Mark's adorable. _Adorable_ is not a trait Keanu can remember attributing to anyone who wasn't four.

_I could just..._ Keanu unconsciously licks his lips, watching Mark a little too closely. _Look at him for a little while._ Hell, just watching him drive the car is jacking-off material for a couple weeks.

But then he remembers he needs to answer the question. Keanu decides _whatever's on sale_ might not be a good reply; "Jack," he says simply.

"Jack Daniels it is," Mark says as they head inside, grateful for something to focus on besides whether he's going to have the nerve to do with a stranger what he'd bolted from with someone he knew. "You have anything to mix it with," he asks, "or shall we grab something?"

"I don't mix it," Keanu says, "but if you want something, be my guest." And he fishes his last seventeen bucks out of his pocket and frowns at it. He's not going to play this off casual. He's a whore. Whores don't have a lot of money.

He locates the Jack quickly enough, not a huge bottle, but big enough to share, and grabs it around the neck. "Anything else you want?" he asks, looking around, smelling the peculiar, sweet scent of a joint that sells stuff like heather cream and apple schnapps.

"Nah, this is good," Mark says, reaching for the bottle. "Let me get it," he says. "Inviting myself over like this, it's the least I can do."

Keanu blinks--_did he invite himself over, or did I do it?_\--and he can't remember, now. It doesn't matter. He hands the bottle over, too broke to argue, and tips his head down. "Thanks."

"Hey, my pleasure," Mark says with a grin. "You've rescued me from what was turning into an incredibly dull night." _'Cause whatever this is, whatever the hell I think I'm doing, I'm definitely not bored now._

There's no wait at the checkout, and Mark's pleased that the guy who rings them up doesn't give him a look, as if anyone seeing them could tell that Mark's a stupidly naive newly hatched corporate type and Keanu's a --

But he can't bring himself to think it. _There's nothing wrong with it,_ he tells himself sternly as he pays. _Victimless crime, yeah? So fucking stow it, asshole. Fucking provincial._

"So," Keanu says, snatching the bottle away almost possessively as they walk out, "what does a guy like you do for fun? You play chess?" He grins wryly, knowing better.

Mark laughs, shaking his head. "Well, I mean yeah, I do, but I suck at it so I'm not sure I'd call it fun." He unlocks the car and as they get in, goes on, "I swim, go diving when I can -- all about the water sports, you know? And the usual," as the engine purrs to life. "Movies, and trying to convince my friends I'm not really forty already -- go out and do the dry ice thing," he says with a wry smile.

Keanu narrows his eyes. "Forty?" he says, toying with the bottle in the bag but not quite ready to unwrap it. "Really?"

Laughing again, Mark shakes his head. "Twenty-five. Just turned. But to hear Matt talk -- college friend, we roomed together junior and senior years -- if I wanna stay home on a Friday and read a book or something, I'm acting like an old married guy." He pulls carefully out onto the street again and goes on, "Matt's the reason I'm out tonight. He's usually the reason I'm out."

Giving a low snort, Keanu shakes his head. "That only doesn't suck if you're digging getting out," he says. "You don't like it, though, do you." He looks at Mark.

"I don't _not_ like it most nights," Mark says, and he frowns a little. "I just -- tonight it was getting on my nerves, the girls, and -- I don't know."

_Such a fucking liar, Lutz,_ he thinks. _Like this guy's going to care that what was pissing you off was watching Matt with his latest conquest and wishing like hell you didn't fucking _want_ him so much._

He shrugs. "Some nights are better than others, is all," he finishes at last, and even he can hear how half-hearted it sounds. "But," he adds, "it's looking up, right?"

"Is it looking up?" Keanu rests a hand low on Mark's thigh, closer, really, toward his knee. Low enough to get batted away as a joke, but there.

Mark almost jerks at the unexpected touch, and hopes Keanu couldn't tell, swallows against the sudden tightness in his chest. "It's uh -- yeah," he says, and he's sure he's blushing like hell. He glances at Keanu. "Listen," he says, hating the hesitation he hears in his own voice, "I don't really know what I'm doing," and he almost laughs, grins instead. "I mean I guess you can tell that. Not really your usual, um. What. Guy?"

"John," Keanu corrects, but it's soft, not the wry thing he normally does. "I know you're not. Just get to 1317 57th Street and we'll be fine." Jesus, Mark's hungry, naive tone is driving Keanu crazy. He shakes the bottle of Jack, like that's the reason they're going up there.

Nodding, Mark glances at the next street sign. They still have a ways to go, and he chews his lip. He doesn't have any idea how to explain what he wants to explain, can't think of a way to do it that won't sound awful. Finally he just says, "I'm glad we're going to your place." He ducks his head, not looking at Keanu. "I mean I'm glad you're letting me give you a ride home."

_Yeah._ Keanu gives Mark's knee a squeeze. "Are you just giving me a ride home?" he asks, trying to sound knowing without sounding scary. "Is that it?"

"No," Mark answers, not thinking, and then he does think about it, and shakes his head. "No," he says again. "I'm giving you a ride home, and we've got this massive bottle of Jack Daniels to share, and I'm really hoping I can get drunk enough to figure out how to come on to you without getting so drunk I can't do anything about it, and then I'm trying to figure out how the hell I'm going to _pay_ you." He glances at Keanu with a smile. "Do you take plastic?" he asks. "'Cause I am _so_ not going to try to pretend a ride home and a bottle is anything close to what you'd get if you'd waited around for someone who knew what the hell he was doing."

Keanu trains his eyes on the road again. "Just get us to my place," he says, "and I'll get us through the rest." He looks at Mark just briefly, waiting for his response. Keanu has had one other incident in the past ten years he's wanted to give someone sex without money, so he's content to let this go the way it is.

Mark just nods. By the time he's pulling into a space outside Keanu's building, he thinks he may be lucky they got here at all. He barely remembers the last ten minutes, just the light pressure of Keanu's hand on his thigh, and willing every light to turn red so he'd have the chance to fling himself at Keanu. For once, the damned things were green all the way through.

Keanu gives Mark a nice, easy grin as he pulls out of the car. It's a nice car, gorgeous, the kind of thing Keanu would pull off over, but he really wants Mark up in his place now. In his bed. In his chair. Against his wall. _Fuck._

The building is an old brownstone, the kind that Mark's always admired driving by, a sort of casual, dilapidated warmth that makes him want to live there. He knows it's probably unrealistic, just some fantasy made up by movies, but he's not really thinking about that as he follows Keanu up the stairs.

Mostly he's trying not to think at all, figuring once he starts thinking, he'll think himself out of this.

"Okay," Keanu says as he locks the door behind them. "If this is gonna turn into a thing for you..." He tips his head down and looks at Mark seriously.

Mark stops, brought up short. "Um. A thing?" he asks. "What -- what kind of thing?"

"A thing." Keanu approaches slowly. "Like, with your friends, and your parents, and your whole..." He waves a hand aimlessly. He ends up backing Mark to the wall, hands flat, Mark heat-close. "You ready to stop fucking around?" he asks softly.

Mark's gut twists into a hot-cold knot, and his chest is tight, palms aching. There's only one answer he can give, and it doesn't matter whether it's the right one or not, doesn't even matter that he doesn't know what it means.

"Yeah," he says, half whispered through a dry throat, fingers curling into loose fists, uncurling. "Yeah."

Mark has all the signs of a boy who hasn't found his power, and Keanu is suddenly, hungrily ready to bring it out. He leans in, nothing more than a flexing of his elbows, and kisses Mark hotly: not a strong, wet kiss but almost there, almost that desperate.

There's a sound trapped in Mark's throat, and it's starting to leak out in a thready little whimper. His cock is suddenly, painfully hard, pushing against the denim of his jeans and there's something terrifying here, something he doesn't think he can know, but has to find out. He opens his mouth to the kiss, one hand coming up as if of its own accord to cup Keanu's arm.

_Jesus,_ Keanu thinks, and then _Yeah._ This feels good, _so_ good, and he presses Mark against the wall bodily, hungrily, groaning into it.

Mark's grip tightens, hard muscle beneath his fingers as Keanu pushes him back, and he thinks he could shove Keanu away if he wanted to, isn't sure, but oh, god, he doesn't want to. He wants this so much, whatever it is, new and fucking terrifying, and he twines his other arm around Keanu's waist to hold him tight.

Keanu lets the kiss go on a minute before ne pulls back to look at Mark. "You have no idea why you're here," he says softly, "but here you are. Are you sure you want this? Are you positive?"

Mark swallows, nodding. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, I'm sure."

Keanu lunges in again, this time for a hungry, biting kiss, almost desperate. It feels way better than it should, and Keanu wants more. Way more than he's getting.

Shoved against the wall and completely out of his depth, Mark has nowhere to go and nothing to cling to but Keanu, and he meets Keanu's kiss with a sort of wild desperation, clutching at him pushing back hard, wanting more, everything, and with no idea what'll happen if he gets it.

Keanu's been good; he's checked and double-checked and made sure Mark's not doing something he doesn't want. Most of the time, it's not that simple. Sure, wanting it while your dick's hard isn't the same as not regretting it the next day. Still, Keanu doesn't think he's going to concern himself about that right now.

He keeps kissing, not wanting to get too far into the intricacies of removing clothes. That has a way of taking the momentum off, and once people slow down and start thinking, it's over. And something weird's happening to Keanu right now: he wants it. Bad. Bad enough to reach down between them and get into Mark's fly, right there against the wall. He reaches in past the waistband of Mark's underwear and moans as his hand closes around the thick, hard cock. _God,_ does he want.

Mark gasps, hips jerking when Keanu grips him and he hears his cry muffled against Keanu's kiss, arms tightening around him. His body's responding fast and hard while his mind scrambles to catch up, and he's pushing into that hand, can already feel his climax tightening behind his balls and he breaks the kiss, "God, no-- stop, I'll come, wait -- wait--"

"Want you to," Keanu mumbles against Mark's mouth, and he does. This isn't like saying something hot to get the john off quickly, he _wants_ to give this to Mark. He wants to see Mark boneless and post-orgasmic. He starts to work his hand harder, then has a better idea and decides he's just going to go to his knees. Once there, he spares Mark a quick glance before just sinking his mouth over Mark's cock, licking and sucking his way till the head's at the back of his throat and Mark can feel him moan around it.

"Oh -- _oh fuck_ \-- oh _God!_" Mark's hands are fisting in Keanu's hair, and as hard as he tries to hold back, there's no way, not with the wet heat of Keanu's mouth around him and the vibrations from that low, unbelievably gorgeous moan, and Mark's hips jerk as he comes, spilling deep in Keanu's throat.

Keanu pulls back just enough to swallow and then eases off, licking his lips. He gives Mark a sly, hungry little smile and stands up, taking in the sated, stunned expression on Mark's face. Matter-of-factly, he leans in and kisses Mark's neck and tucks him back into his jeans, aware that he might not want to taste his own come. Lots of Keanu's johns would prefer not to -- then again, Mark isn't like any of Keanu's johns, and he hasn't been since the start.

Mark's shaky, too wide-eyed, and he's holding Keanu's arm as though he needs it to stay upright. "That's -- wow," he murmurs, and leans against the wall. He can feel the blush heating his face but he's too overwhelmed to care, and he glances around the apartment, then back at Keanu. He thinks, having come, that it's his cue to leave, but that's the last thing he wants, and he searches for something to say that'll mean he doesn't have to.

"But you," he gets out at last. "Um. You know," and he shrugs a little, still breathless. "What about you?"

This, unfortunately, is where Keanu turns into a whore again, and for the wrong reasons this time. Usually, it's because the john paid him, so it's easy to just make the john happy with a _Whatever you want, baby._ But Keanu likes Mark, as much as he can like someone he just met an hour ago. There's something about him. Even as Keanu thinks it, it sounds lame, but he just _likes_ spending this time.

Asking a virgin what he wants from a whore, though, that's bound to be a dead end. "I can do lots of things," Keanu breathes, nuzzling Mark's cheek. "I can take care of myself. You can watch. Or you can use your hand, that'd be great." He pulls back to look Mark in the eye. Mark's every move, every breath screams _new_, which is why Keanu digs him so well. But Keanu also knows on the nights he's taken cherries in whatever form that happened, they have no clue what they want. "Or if you want to get real adventurous," he adds, probably against his better judgment, "you can use your mouth. I'll talk you through it." _Yeah. Like he's gonna want to do that._ But damn, it's so worth asking.

And how many times has Mark imagined doing it, sinking to his knees in front of Matt and taking him in his mouth, imagined what it'd feel like, how it'd taste, that thick cock buried in his throat. And now here it is in front of him -- not Matt, but a stranger, someone he never has to see again -- _but what if I want to? what then?_ \-- and he wants it, wants it as fiercely as he ever wanted Matt. More, because Keanu isn't going to look at him with cold eyes and ask him what the fuck he thinks he's doing.

He swallows hard, that knot of nervous anticipation back as tight as if it had never left, and he nods once, licks his lips. "I want...I want to," he says.

"Okay." Keanu presses a little closer to Mark and breathes, "you want to do it here, like I did? Or you want to lie down and do it?" For his part, he doesn't care, but the idea that Mark, who is green to the point of _innocence,_ wants to do this is so fucking hot it burns. His cock's throbbing in his leather jeans; he reaches down with the intention of adjusting himself, but then thinks better of it and grabs Mark's hand, pressing it to his crotch and letting him feel.

"Oh Jesus," Mark breathes, his fingers tightening on the hard bulge of Keanu's erection, and his breath hitches when he realizes it's for _him_. So what if it's not really for Mark Lutz, poli-sci major with his MBA and whose secretary has a secretary, who likes diving and bad horror movies and eats cherry Pop-Tarts untoasted with his Saturday morning cartoons, it's still for him, and he wants it, wants to taste it, wants to feel it pushing into his throat and know what that means, and he says, "Here. Here," and then he's sinking awkwardly his knees between Keanu and the wall and fumbling with his fly.

Swallowing hard, Keanu stares down at Mark, stunned by how eager he is. He plucks at the snap on Keanu's fly twice before getting it, and then the zipper catches, but instead of helping, Keanu just watches. He's got a sense of this being a lot heavier an initiation than he first realized, and he doesn't want to demean it by taking over.

_A prostitute,_ he thinks, _trying not to demean someone._ It's sort of ridiculous, but there it is. And he wants this to be good for Mark.

When Mark looks up at him, sort of scared but more hungry than anything else, Keanu strokes a hand over his hair and lets out a shaky sigh. "Just...if you can't go all the way down, it's okay. You just sort of cover your teeth up with your lips and suck. And...I'll tell you when I get close in case you don't wanna swallow." And God, he sincerely hopes that's enough tutorial for Mark; he knows once he's inside that inexperienced mouth, words are going to go right out the window.

Nodding, Mark wets his lips, and it's as though every blowjob every girl has ever given him never even happened and if it weren't for Keanu's voice he'd have no idea how to begin. Keanu smells like leather and clean sweat, a lingering trace of soap beneath, and his cock is jutting up in front of Mark's face like it's asking to be swallowed, the head glistening with precum. Mark's chest is so tight he feels like he can hardly breathe, his stomach twisting into knots, but he can't help wanting to taste it, just taste, and he dips his tongue into the slit, sucking gently before he covers his teeth and slides Keanu into his mouth.

Sucking in a hard breath, Keanu shudders and just barely keeps his hips from jerking forward. The feel is incredible; no virgin mouth has any business being so fucking _heavenly_ inside, and all Keanu's years of whoring are coming to absolutely no use. No personal training, no preparation, no skill in holding back orgasm, nothing is helping him get over how fucking spectacular this is. He puts his hand on Mark's shoulder and grips it, curling forward slightly and letting out a rough, shaking moan.

And though Mark thinks the taste could take some getting used to, that _sound_ is something he wants to hear more of, doesn't think he could ever get so used to it that it wouldn't send a hot curl of lust crawling up his spine. He opens his mouth wider, trying to take as much of Keanu in as he can while keeping his teeth covered, and it's awkward and uncomfortable and he's sure he's doing it wrong even if Keanu is making those sounds. He feels like a virgin again, seventeen and naive and with no idea what he's doing, and it's just as terrifying and fantastic now as it was then.

Without thinking he brings one hand around and circles the base of Keanu's cock, stroking the last inches he can't swallow, and his other hand tightens on Keanu's thigh.

"Ohgod," Keanu belts out. It's good, it's _really_ fucking good, and he knows in a minute, Mark's going to have to get a warning, but...in a minute. Right now, he covers Mark's hand on his thigh with his own and just lets himself go, keeping his hips as still as he can and rasping out harsh breaths.

And even nervous as he is, Mark can tell _that's_ good, and he loves the feel of Keanu's hand on his. He's making a sloppy mess of this but he doesn't care, the wet sounds of his mouth around Keanu's cock and the weird, musky, salty taste of him, smell of leather and those _sounds_, Keanu's breath hitching in little groans.

"Mark," Keanu breathes, and then, more urgently, "_Mark_, fuck, you can't -- I gotta -- stop, stop_close_\--" and he pushes at Mark's shoulder hard, digging his fingers in and shoving his hips back.

Mark pulls off of Keanu with a wet pop, startled and almost dazed, and he's half relieved Keanu stopped him and half sorry, wants to know what it feels like when Keanu comes in his mouth even though his stomach twists unpleasantly at the thought. He keeps pumping Keanu's cock, wet and slick with spit and precum and hoping it's good, hoping this isn't Keanu trying to stop the whole thing.

"Oh, God," Keanu groans, and he manages to grab Mark's arm and drag him up to kiss him hard. Mark's hand falters, so Keanu covers it with his own and manages to pump their joined hands over his cock two, maybe three times before he comes, shuddering hard, making short, broken groans into Mark's mouth.

"Fuck," he pants when it's over, dropping his head to Mark's shoulder.

Keanu's hair is soft against Mark's cheek, and he wraps his arm around him and glances around to find the bed. He's got no clue what happens next, but sitting down is seeming like a better and better idea, and in the absence of anything else he's falling back on the girls he's known, and thinking now's when they hang out and maybe talk or order pizza, or... maybe do it again in half an hour if he's really lucky. If Keanu doesn't throw him out now that it's all done.

Noticing Mark looking around, Keanu grins and laughs softly. "Bed's over there," he says, pointing to a glorified shower curtain rod that's got a big blanket thrown over it. Behind the makeshift divider is the bed. It's clean, but the sheets don't match; mustard yellow sheets and a red pillowcase and a white blanket stamped with COUNTY GENERAL.

Mark keeps his arm around Keanu and tugs him along towards the bed, pausing only long enough to grab the bottle from where Keanu'd set it down. "C'mon," he says. "We need sustenance. Or I do, anyway."

Keanu leans over to the end of the bed and takes up the towel he used to shower with this afternoon. "Here," he says, and catches Mark's hand. Not too sticky, but Keanu wipes it clean anyway, and then his own, and then his leather pants, and then the rest of him before tucking himself away again and zipping up. He looks at Mark, cracking into the bottle -- probably not a good sign. "Uh. I usually don't have to ask...people this, but...are you okay?"

Mark's hand is still tingling where Keanu'd cleaned it, the rough brush of the towel and Keanu's warmth beneath it, the feel of strong fingers through the terrycloth, and somewhere Mark's aware that that isn't something he expected. Doesn't seem like what he should expect. He's just zipped his jeans and is twisting the cap off the bottle when he registers Keanu's question.

"Hmm?" he says, then nods, and nods again. "Yeah," he says, "yeah, I'm -- you know," and he grins. "Not really how I'd thought the night'd end up, y'know? But goddamn." He chuckles softly. "Hey, you want a glass?" he asks, "or do you care?"

"Don't care," Keanu says, gesturing to the bottle. He gives a thoughtful pause, running his hands over his hair, and then murmurs, "It's not how I expected the night to go, either." He quirks a little grin at Mark. "But goddamn." And he leans over and brushes his lips over Mark's.

Mark starts at the unexpected kiss, somewhere in the back of his mind some weird bit of popular myth or wisdom saying that whores don't kiss their clients, but here's Keanu, kissing him. And with a soft sound he slips his hand around the back of Keanu's neck and tugs him close, noses bumping as he nudges Keanu's lips open, barely enough to taste, to breathe his breath before he's tipping his forehead against Keanu's and letting out a surprised little laugh.

"It's good, isn't it," Keanu asks, though he can tell it is. "I like it, anyway. I like you." He rocks his forehead back and forth against Mark's and grins, reaching up to cup his hand at the side of Mark's neck.

Mark covers Keanu's hand with his own, then brings it to his lips and kisses the palm. ""It _is_ good," he says. "And I like you too. Is that -- I mean I know I'm not like the folks you usually hang out with," he says, "or at least I guess I'm not," and he tugs at a crease in Keanu's leather jeans, runs his finger over it. "I'm like the least hip person I've ever met, y'know?" he says with a little grin, and ducks his head.

It feels dumb, what he's thinking. _He_ feels dumb, just some stupid middle-class guy trying to turn this into something that'll probably make Keanu back off a mile and tell him not to get weird. Not to make it a thing. _Just a trick, Lutz. Don't make it a thing._

"You know what, though?" Keanu says, and he tilts his head, watching Mark try to hide. "I kinda like that you're not like anybody else." _Jesus,_ he thinks impatiently, _you're a whore._ Then again...he's seen people lie to him, _watched_ them do it. Mark doesn't look like he is -- or he's a better actor than anyone else Keanu's ever taken to bed, or whatever it was they just did.

Glancing up at Keanu, Mark tilts his head, his grin turning shy. "Yeah?" he says, and if he can hear the cynical voice in the back of his head that always sounds like Matt, the one telling him Keanu's a hustler who knows an easy mark when he sees one, he's ignoring it as determinedly as he ever ignored his father's advice about women.

"Hey," he says, lifting the bottle. "Here's to new friends, yeah? And to people who aren't like anyone else," _'cause you're sure not like anyone I know, either, but not in the way you'd think if I said it aloud._ He takes a long swallow and passes it to Keanu, shuddering a little at the burn.

Grinning back, Keanu takes the bottle. He wonders if he should say now or later that he has no intention, and never really did, of taking any money for this. _Or maybe,_ he thinks, _that would make me look more like a whore than I do._ He drinks, then lets out an exaggerated, satisfied sigh at the taste of the alcohol.

Mark laughs and nods. "Yeah, y'know it's a hell of a lot better than some overpriced watered down drink in one of those oh-my-god trendy downtown joints," he says. He toes out of his shoes and scoots up on the bed, sitting cross-legged and wondering if Keanu'd mind if he stretched out. Except he might doze off if he did, and he doesn't much like the idea of Keanu having to wake him up to kick him out.

"Hey," he says suddenly, "y'know, I know I told you I don't have any cash, but I was thinking," though _thinking_ is honoring the sudden flash of inspiration he's had. "You wanna do something later? Like, I mean not later tonight -- it's late and all. But -- well, I mean whenever you're free next? I could bring cash then and we could, I don't know, maybe get dinner somewhere?" His grin goes lopsided. "You could teach me not to suck so badly at chess?"

Keanu swallows, frowning and pulling back. "Look," he says quietly, and he hands off the bottle quickly. "Forget it, okay?" He stills his expression and makes it bland, then smiles. "You don't have to act like you want to hang out with me, okay?" And he goes quieter, but he can't help it; this stings. "And I don't want your money. I never did."

Mark stops. "Wait, what? _Pretend?_" His stomach feels like lead and his chest is tight, and his voice is shaking when he speaks again. "I'm not fucking _pretending_ anything, Keanu," he says. "Fuck, I -- maybe I'm a dumbass, fine, but I'm not a fucking liar and it seemed like a good excuse to get you to see me again. Get you to see _me_, incidentally," he adds, "not a goddamned trick or whatever the fuck you call it, I wanted to see you without any of that shit, and I'm not so fucking stupid as to think you're doing this for kicks, you know," he goes on, and he wants to bolt and he wants to hit something. He does neither. "What am I supposed to do, just act like your time isn't worth shit just 'cause I'm such a fucking boy scout? Goddamn, I don't know the rules here, I'm just trying not to be an asshole, all right?" He rubs his hand across his eyes. "And I fucking want to see you again. _You._"

The tirade stuns Keanu, and he feels a flash of anger in spite of himself. "Maybe I just fucking _wanted_ to do it for kicks, huh?" _Maybe for once I didn't feel like selling it._ But nothing else he can think of to say will do anything but make this worse, and he realizes he doesn't want to be in a screaming match with someone he actually enjoys being with. Maybe that's why they're fighting -- this hit home. For both of them.

He raises his hands apologetically and sighs, and even as he's opening his mouth to say something else, something less angry, something to defuse this and not fuck it up, he's reaching for Mark, cupping his face, kissing him softly but with a great deal of hunger.

Mark's frustration and anger evaporate at that kiss and he meets it desperately, hands covering Keanu's before he twines his arms around him, all but burrowing into him. He feels an unfamiliar knot of helplessness and anger at his own bewilderment and he murmurs "I'm sorry," against Keanu's lips. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything by it -- I just," and he shakes his head, eyes closing. "I don't know how to do _any_ of this," he says softly. "I don't know what's going on, I don't know any of it, except I like you and I want -- I wanna see you. That's all."

"Okay," Keanu breathes, nodding. "Okay. Yeah. I wanna see you, too. I'm sorry. That's...this is weird for me. I'm not..." He shrugs.

Mark chuckles, the shaky laugh of someone who thinks he's dodged a bullet. "Yeah, it's a little weird for me too," he says. "I'm just -- I'm not used to not knowing how to do the important things." He nudges in for a tentative kiss, bourbon lingering in it, then looks for Keanu's eyes and asks, "So, what're you not?"

"I'm not used to this," Keanu says. "Any of this. I mean... it's been a long time since I just _wanted_ to be with someone. This is the kind of thing they make goofy movies out of." He grins lopsidedly and ducks his head down.

Laughing again, Mark wraps an arm around Keanu's shoulders and tugs him close. "Hey, I _love_ goofy movies," he says. "I'm all for making one."

* * * *

Keanu's seen Mark go by. A couple times, in fact. It's like he's trying, maybe, to act like he's just cruising by on his way to... whatever. Or maybe he's hoping Keanu will spot him out there.

What Mark doesn't realize is that Keanu sits by his window to smoke, and in between gigs, he smokes a lot. He's seen that distinctive car with the daddy-personalized plates go by too many times, now.

That he wishes he was in it is beside the point.

But by mid-afternoon on the third day, he's had enough of watching and wishing. Mark didn't give him a number (and really, as many assholes as Keanu has seen in his life, he really thinks this was just an oversight), so Keanu decides he's going to go down with his pack of smokes, his lighter, and his bootleg MP3s, and wait. Right there on the curb, on the corner, just like Mark first found him.

Mark's starting to get used to feeling like a high school kid again.

Well, maybe not used to it exactly. But the alternative to cruising Keanu's street trying to remember which of the Brownstones is his is to forget the whole thing, and he hasn't been able to do that.

He'd even almost tried, sort of. The morning after the first night, when he'd finally made it back to his apartment and was sprawled on his couch trying to decide whether he wanted to sleep or make coffee, he'd remembered that he hadn't left Keanu his phone number, and that Keanu hadn't asked for it, either.

"Well, he knows I know where he lives," he'd muttered to himself. "Maybe he just figures I'll come over."

He'd squirmed around that for a bit, and then thought, _Or maybe he's figuring I won't._

When he'd gone to write down the address, though, he'd realized all he could remember was the street. He hadn't been thinking very clearly on the way there, or on the way home, heart still hammering in his chest from a kiss goodbye and still trying to understand what had happened, his mind reeling from the implications, and when he realized he didn't know for sure where to find Keanu, he'd wondered if that was a good sign he shouldn't try.

Mark had never really thought of himself as gay. Or bi. No matter how many times he'd stroked off to thoughts of Matt or imagined what would've happened if he hadn't bolted when Tyler had cornered him in the swim team's locker room, he'd never _done_ anything with a guy, so he couldn't be gay, right?

Only now he has. His stomach twists a little as he makes the turn towards Keanu's street again, and he feels that familiar cold prickle on the back of his neck, wondering what the fuck he's doing. He's not even dared to imagine what his dad would say if he knew.

_"Dad, I met someone."_

"Oh?" And the smile, that board-room smile. "Tell me about her."

And that's as far as he can get.

_Dad wouldn't care if I were fucking a whore, as long as I didn't catch anything,_ he thinks, _but a crush on a guy, Jesus Christ. He'd fucking fire me. Disinherit. Disown._

_Mom'd just cry about the lost grandchildren._

He'd spent an entire day trying not to think about it. On the second day, he'd just thought maybe he'd drive by the neighborhood, because hey, those Brownstones were awesome, and maybe he should think about some investment real estate, and hadn't he seen a "for sale" sign somewhere over there? He was sure he had. He'd just go and look.

And there'd definitely been a "for sale" sign in front of one of the buildings, but he was pretty sure it wasn't Keanu's. Except, hadn't Keanu's building had those same sort of fluttery pink curtains in one of the first floor apartments? He'd stopped and idled on the corner for five or ten minutes trying to get up the nerve to go inside, then had just written down the phone number on the sign and headed for the office.

He's done the same thing now for three days running, and he knows that today if he doesn't do _something_he's going to have to give it up and just try to forget anything ever happened, and the thought makes his chest knot up in a very unpleasant way. _I'll just go in,_ he thinks. _If the sign is still up, I'll just go in and look around. I mean it could be in awful shape, right? And I'll just see if that top floor looks familiar, or -- if it smells like his place._

But as he rounds the corner his heart skips and then starts beating too fast when he sees that lean figure sitting on the corner, and his foot almost slips on the accelerator before he spots a parking space and pulls smoothly into it. Much more smoothly than he has any right to, he thinks, given that his vision seems to have gone sparkly at the edges and he's pretty sure he's going to hyperventilate.

_Make your decision in the space of seven breaths,_ he thinks as he kills the engine. _'The Way of the Samurai is in desperateness. Ten men or more cannot kill such a man. Common sense will not accomplish great things. Simply become insane and desperate.'_

He steps out of the car and turns towards Keanu with a smile, pressing the button to arm the alarm system and it bleats softly. _Insane and desperate,_ he thinks. _That's me all over._

Keanu looks up at Mark, smiling lazily. He flicks ashes into the gutter and stands, jamming one hand into a pocket. Regular jeans, this time, and a washed-out blue t-shirt that flops a little around his lean frame, and he squints as he takes his last drag and tosses the cigarette expertly down the gutter drain. He jams his cigarette hand into his pocket to keep from grabbing Mark right here on the street. God, he looks so fucking good right now, all clean and bright and nervous. People are staring at Mark's car, unused to such affluence in the middle of scroungy impoverished streets, but it's not a bad neighborhood, particularly. At least people will respect a car alarm.

"Hi," he says, exhaling smoke with the word. He nods his head, ducking it down a little, grinning. His own heart's beating a little faster, now, and it's got nothing to do with the thing in his pants. "Saw you go by a couple times," he confesses, looking at Mark, "so I figured, you know." He shrugs lopsidedly.

"Oh, you did?" Mark says with an embarrassed little laugh, and he scratches the back of his neck and then takes his sunglasses off. "I uh -- well, I couldn't remember which building was yours," he says, completely abandoning the pretense of looking for real estate. Keanu's smile makes something in Mark want to grab him and keep him, tuck him in his pocket and take him home.

Keanu grins, nodding. "I figured." He tips his head toward the door. "Come on. I ordered pizza earlier, if you want." Frankly, he's hoping Mark won't want pizza, but there's no way he's gonna say something like _Come on up so I can throw you against the wall and suck you off again._

"Yeah? That'd be great," Mark says, following Keanu inside. He'd eaten barely an hour ago, but that doesn't matter, what matters is getting back in Keanu's apartment, getting where he can get his hands on him if he can work up the courage, and if it means eating a slice of pizza then he's by god eating pizza.

"So you uh, you knew I was trying to figure out which one was yours?" he asks as they climb the stairs. "Man, I'm kind of embarrassed now," and he grins, laughs uncertainly. "I swear I'm not a stalker."

"Don't worry about it," Keanu grins, waving his hand as they get into his place. "You can stalk me any time you want, baby." He wonders, really, if Mark came over for some half-assed pizza from down the street, or if he's here for the same reason he was here last time. Keanu is nothing if not adventurous that way, though, and he looks at Mark steadily without making for the fridge. "So," he says, spreading his hands and smiling that slow smile he's seen melt people where they stand.

The door swings shut behind them, and Mark stands for a moment just looking at Keanu, feeling his face heat at the thought of the things that smile makes him want to do.

"That's uh...not a 'hey do you want some pizza' smile," he begins, and he feels like his voice is way too loud in the still, sweet air of the apartment. "Which is okay," he adds quickly, "'cause I'm um," taking a step forward, "not really interested in your pizza."

"I'm really disappointed," Keanu says, sidling closer. He grabs the pockets of Mark's pants and tugs him so their hips are flush. That feels good, though; too good for small talk that's just going to forestall the inevitable. He cups the back of Mark's neck in his hand and draws him in to kiss him, tongue sliding over Mark's bottom lip before dipping into his mouth. Keanu moans softly, pressing forward, more than content to let Mark know how happy he is to see him.

It's like touching sparks, and Mark opens to the kiss, hands going to Keanu's hips and _ohgod_ it feels good, Keanu holding the back of his neck, holding him here, and Mark's cock -- already half-hard from the moment he'd seen Keanu on the sidewalk -- is stirring, straining towards him.

Keanu deepens the kiss hungrily, then pulls his hips back just enough to get a hand down between them. He cups Mark's erection through his slacks and moans again.

"God," he breathes against Mark's mouth, "so hot." The instinct to ask Mark what he wants kicks in, but Keanu knows there's not going to be an easy answer to that. It's all still too shiny. Keanu feels a sudden, deep sense of affection for Mark at that realization; he's putting a lot of faith in Keanu right now.

One thing Keanu does know, though, is he doesn't want to do this standing up. Not this time. He leads Mark over behind his homemade partition and presses Mark down to the bed, immediately straddling him and kissing him again.

Mark arches under Keanu, wrapping his arms around him and meeting the kiss with as much passion as uncertainty, twist of nervousness in his stomach because what is he doing here? what is _Keanu_ doing _wanting_ him here? Nothing in his life seems to have led to this, but he can't imagine any other path than the one he's on now, even if he has no idea how he got here or where it goes, only the heat between them to let him know he's where he needs to be.

It feels good just kissing Mark, kneeling over him like this. Mark's such a fucking innocent compared to Keanu, and Keanu finds that indescribably sexy even though he understands he could easily run Mark off by presenting him with too much at once.

"What do you like in bed?" he asks softly against Mark's mouth, knowing that's probably a hard question to answer like _What do you want?_ but really wanting something to go on.

"Not sure, not like this," Mark says with a crooked smile. "The girls I've been with it's just -- you know, I go down on her, she goes down on me, we fuck if she'll let me."

He knows it's not a good answer, though, and he kisses Keanu, trying to think of a better one. After a moment he says quietly, "I liked -- I liked it when you backed me up against the wall the other night," and there's that leap in his stomach again, his heart skipping. He drops his gaze, watching Keanu's mouth. "I liked feeling like you wanted me that much."

"You liked that, huh?" Keanu grins, brushing his nose over Mark's. "Like it a little rough?" He leans down, then, and gives Mark's neck a playful nip. "Like that, too? Or you just like it intense and hot?"

"Mmm--uh," and Mark crinkles his nose in a quick grin. "I think I like it," he says. "Always liked getting hickeys -- it's sort of the same, yeah?"

"Sort of," Keanu agrees, and he's suddenly ready to teach Mark about the nuances between biting and hickeys. Checking Mark's eyes, he lowers his head slowly and nuzzles his way past Mark's collar. He licks lightly, then kisses, and then starts to suck, rubbing his tongue over the place between his lips. The suction is steady and hard, and he doesn't let up until he's sure there's a bruise, and he's pretty damned sure it hurts, too.

Mark's squirming long before the pain starts, and his fingers are closed on Keanu's arm and gripping hard. It feels different from the girls who'd done this, sharper somehow, like Keanu's trying to suck the blood out through his skin, and Mark's hips are arching up off the bed, pinned by Keanu and grinding against him.

"That's a hickey," Keanu says almost conversationally, voice deep and quiet, and Mark lets out a soft huffing laugh and crinkles his nose, trying to get his breath back. Then Keanu shifts over to the other side. He latches on again, but this time he starts to bear down with his teeth. He lets up for a minute, Mark's breath hitching, then bears down again, then lets up, and then he bites hard, a seriously sharp one. "That's a bite," he breathes, and just doing this to Mark is making him hot, so he raises his head to kiss Mark again, deep and hard.

Mark whimpers into the kiss, the whimper turning to a groan as he wraps his arms around Keanu and holds him tight. When Keanu breaks the kiss enough for Mark to speak at all, he says, "S'good," his voice cracking a little and he laughs at himself. "It's uh -- it's -- I think right now I'd like just about anything you wanted to do to me."

Keanu blinks, and there's a long pause before he can speak again. "Be careful," he breathes. "It might not be a good idea to tell someone like me something like that."

There's a twist in Mark's gut, hot and aching, and his fingers twitch against Keanu's back. "Someone like..?" and he shakes his head. "What do you mean?" he asks. "I mean...what would you want to do?"

Then he licks his lips and adds softly, "I'm uh -- not as easy to freak out as I look."

There's a slight hesitation before Keanu says, "You have no idea how bad I want to fuck you." He swallows and licks his lips, watching Mark's eyes. "You make me want to run through the whole list, Mark, just to see what you want. What you'll take."

Mark's cock jerks and stiffens even more at that, and he swallows hard, then grins a shaky grin. "Might like that," he says, and ducks his head. "I mean, hearing the list." Then he hesitates and adds, "Or the other. I've -- I've thought about it, with -- guys I've known before. You know. Wondered what it was like." He swallows again and crinkles his nose in that odd little grin, and the twist is tighter now, as much excitement as fear -- maybe more. "Jerked off thinking about it, even," he adds quietly.

Suddenly Keanu thinks "the list" would be easier to get through than fucking Mark. How's Mark going to feel when he looks back on his first time and remembers it was with a whore?

_Why should I care?_

That's the problem, though. It's only been a few days and Keanu does care.

_I need to run this guy off. Like, right now._ So Keanu grabs Mark and kisses him again, hands splayed around Mark's head, mouth biting and groaning. Keanu sucks at doing what he needs to do; doing what he wants is always better.

The kiss is perfect, hot and wild and needy, and Mark meets it open-mouthed, sucking Keanu's tongue into his mouth as he grinds up against him.

He wants more, though. And he wants it from Keanu. Every fantasy he's ever had about Matt, about Tyler, they seem like nothing compared to this -- Matt with his "wealthier-than-thou" attitude and his cold gaze, and Tyler who'd barely spoken to Mark before or since, neither of them has ever made Mark feel like this, not even in his fantasies.

And at the same time he's scared to death of it. _Keanu's been with Christ knows how many men -- what's he going to get from you, Lutz?_ he thinks, but he doesn't let go, doesn't push Keanu away.

But Keanu sucks at talking, and he's had plenty of it in the past couple of days. All he wants to do now is show Mark how good it is, so he starts a slow slide down Mark's body, leaning over as he goes for the lube. It's good stuff, a little thicker than the norm, but that's just...Keanu isn't going to think about why he keeps the industrial-strength lube around. He gets down there and tugs Mark's pants away and then moves between his legs, looking up before realizing he should say _something._

"I'm not gonna fuck you," he breathes. "Not tonight. I just want you to feel what...sort of what it feels like. I'm just gonna use my fingers. And my mouth. Okay?"

Mark nods, not trusting his voice. Looking at Keanu makes his breath hitch, that dark hair in a tangle and coffee eyes, face shadowed but limned in the late afternoon sunlight that drifts in through the blinds, and Mark's erection is shifting against his belly, and his heart is beating faster.

Keanu settles down between Mark's legs, kneeling and then bending down a little. He's alternately watching Mark carefully and trying to pay attention to what he's doing, but he's a little nervous about this. Keanu, _nervous._ It's wild.

He bends down and gives Mark's erection a slow lick, base to tip, and shoots him a little grin. "You taste good," he breathes, and as he licks again, he's opening the lube bottle to slick up his hand.

Mark can't help the little buck of his hips when Keanu licks him, and he groans softly, fingers clenching into fists. He's trying not to tense up, afraid Keanu'll change his mind and afraid of coming before Keanu's even had a chance to get started. The wet sound of the lube makes him lick his lips, anticipation and anxiety curling around his chest and squeezing.

"Try to relax," Keanu breathes, and he sucks the head of Mark's cock down, swirling his tongue around it lightly as he presses one finger in. It's not fast, but it's steady, a kind of warning. As Mark's cock starts to soften, Keanu redoubles his efforts with his mouth, never slowing the inward movement of his finger.

"Oh..._god_...." Mark's voice is a low groan and he tips his head back, lower lip caught between his teeth and his body tightens around Keanu's finger, relaxes, tightens again. It doesn't hurt -- he'd expected it to hurt, and it doesn't, and Keanu's mouth is perfect, sucking him hard again when his erection starts to flag. "God, please," he murmurs, pressing down, wanting more.

Slowly, Keanu pulls his mouth off and looks up at Mark. "Easy. Breathe out." He puts his hand low on Mark's stomach. "Right there. Breathe." He runs his tongue over Mark's cock again and stops moving. He's buried now, and he knows how weird it must feel, and in spite of that all he can think about is how _tight_ Mark is, and how he wishes this were his cock inside Mark, not his finger.

But Mark can't help moving. He breathes out, just as Keanu's told him, but he can't keep from squirming, rocking his hips up. "Feels -- feels fucking _weird_," he says with a huffing little laugh that turns to another soft groan. "God, feels weird but _good_, god, Keanu," and he's fisting his hands in the sheets now, quick flash of Keanu in his own house, his own sheets, can almost smell what they'd smell like with Keanu on them and his cock twitches at the thought. "God, yes, please," he murmurs, "c'mon, please?"

"Do you know anything about this?" Keanu asks softly. He's given up sucking for now. Mark's starting to get hard again on his own, and there's no point in trying to distract a virgin away from losing his virginity."I mean...anything about how it goes or what to expect?" Keanu's thinking, now, and he's got to make a decision: give Mark fair warning, or surprise the shit out of him with the discovery of his own prostate.

_I might have to surprise him,_ Keanu decides, _just because there is not going to be anything in the world hotter than that._

"Not a thing," Mark says, and it feels strange talking with Keanu while he's -- like this, spread open, too vulnerable, Keanu up to his knuckles in Mark's body, but it's okay, too. Strange, but okay. "But I mean, people do it all the time, right?" he adds, tilting his head to look at Keanu.

"Just ... hang on," Keanu warns softly, and he angles his mouth down over the head of Mark's cock again, really for no reason now other than Mark's probably going to come from this, and Keanu wants to be ready for it. He gives a soft moan, almost another warning, and then he pushes just enough to dig his finger in and crook it gently. It feels fucking amazing, Mark shaking just slightly, breathing too hard, such an innocent. Keanu aches to be in him.

Mark's biting his lips, squirming into Keanu's touch, his mouth, and then _something_ Keanu does makes him jerk, gasping, "_Oh_god, god, what -- " his cock twitching and then Keanu does it again, and "Oh _fuck_," and he can feel his climax coiled sudden and tight, that hot mouth and clever tongue and _inside_ and then Mark's coming with a shout, gasping, spilling in Keanu's mouth and struggling not to thrash against him, not to choke him.

It's all got to be very gentle, now; just this will make Mark sore tomorrow, forget about right now. Keanu backs off carefully and eases his finger out to clean up, and then he moves carefully over Mark to give him a very light kiss. Some guys are so sensitive after, they don't want to be touched anywhere. _Actually, some guys are so _insensitive_ after..._ Keanu corrects himself. Mark's probably not the former, though, and definitely not the latter.

Wrapping his arms around Keanu's shoulders Mark pulls him down into the kiss, holding him close. "God," he breathes when he can speak again, breath ghosting over Keanu's lips. He feels broken open, like wants to crawl inside Keanu's arms and stay there, and the funny thing is that he thinks Keanu would let him. "Wow," he murmurs, and chuckles faintly. "Is it always like that?"

"It's ..." And Keanu hesitates, though he wants to promise Mark it's always good, it never hurts. Having heard that shit, though, along with such classics as _I promise I won't come in your mouth_ and _only if you want to_ and _all I want to do is be against your body without clothes on_, he's not going to dress it up.

"No," he says seriously. "It's not always like that. But you know, if you have someone who cares about you and you don't take any shit from the ... from who you're ..." Keanu shrugs.

"Hey, c'mere," Mark says, tugging Keanu down and rolling him over, sprawling across his chest. "I was mostly kidding anyway," he says, dipping down to kiss Keanu quickly. "Sex is never _always_ good, is it? But check this out," and he grins, snakes his hand down to cup Keanu's cock, surprised by his own initiative but it feels right. Natural. "We've done it again, that thing where I get off first. One of these days you should get to come first."

Letting out a broken moan, Keanu grinds toward Mark's hand and grins breathlessly. "Believe me, I don't mind," he says. He leans up to nip at the side of Mark's neck as he asks, "You want to do that to me, too?"

"Can I?" Mark says, tilting his head and looking at Keanu, and if someone had walked up to him and said 'hey, do you want to suck some guy off while you shove your finger up his ass?' Mark's pretty sure he'd have said no thank you, but that's not what Keanu's asking. Keanu's asking if Mark wants to hear those same sounds from Keanu that Keanu'd pulled from him, if he wants to see Keanu writhing under his touch, feel the spasm and jerk of his prick when he comes, hear that ragged gasping shout, and _that,_ Mark wants. Oh yes. "I mean I don't -- you know, I don't know what I'm doing," he says, but he's already working Keanu's fly open with unsteady fingers. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You aren't going to hurt me." Keanu wriggles a little under Mark, working his jeans down out of the way and kicking off his shoes."I'll talk you through it." God, but he isn't sure he'll manage that at all, but he sure as fuck's willing to try.

"Okay," Mark says, and nods. "Okay," and then he's inching down Keanu's body, kisses and little nibbling bites as he goes, and then he grins and pauses, sucks one nipple into his mouth and flicks it with the tip of his tongue, one hand stroking the hard column of Keanu's erection.

Gritting his teeth against the pleasure, Keanu cups one hand at the back of Mark's head and lets out a shaky moan. "God, that's nice," he gets out, and strokes his fingers through Mark's hair. "Really good." He's thrusting his hips up, pushing his cock back and forth inside Mark's hand, breathing hard suddenly.

"Oh, not so fast, I've barely even gotten started yet," Mark says, raising his head to smile at Keanu, and he's feeling a little rush of power, the sound of Keanu's breath coming fast into his lungs, the hot press of his cock into Mark's hand.

He glances around and spots the lube, reaches for it. "Is this...? Just um," and he pops it open and pours some into his hand. "Oh, too much, I think," he says with a frown, closing the bottle and tossing it aside, and then he grins again, rubbing his fingers together. "Maybe just um...wipe off the extra," and he wraps his slick hand around Keanu's cock and gives him a long, twisting stroke.

"Ah -- fuck," Keanu laughs. Mark's startlingly quick at this stuff; "fast learner" doesn't quite touch it. "Rule one," he points out when he gets his breath back. "No such thing as too much lube." The words dissolve into another groan, though, and _please_ is right there, right in his throat waiting to come out, and _that_ is shocking.

And Mark's starting to feel his confidence come back, that board-room certainty he's never felt with Keanu, when he knows he has the power, he's the one in control, and Keanu's melting under his hands like chocolate. _God, no wonder he likes it,_ Mark thinks, suddenly annoyed that he's gotten lube all over Keanu's cock and he's not a bit sure he wants to taste it, but wow, the sounds Keanu's making are too fucking perfect to worry about that. He can suck Keanu later -- he's probably better with his hand anyway, having at least had some experience using that. He gets both hands on him now, slicking the other with the excess lube, and he nudges Keanu's legs a little further apart, apprehension returning as he eases one lubed finger down and begins pressing against Keanu's entrance.

Keanu's breath sticks in his lungs with the anticipation. "Nngh -- okay," he gets out a little brokenly. Mark's hand feels so fucking good right now he knows he could come from that, but there's a whole reason behind this little training session, and Keanu wants to get into it before he forgets why he's offering it in the first place. "Just -- right inside. You won't hurt me, don't -- ah, fuck, Mark." Keanu's cock is twitching already; he wants Mark in him. Really, he wants Mark fucking him, but it's too soon for that. Even Keanu knows that, even lust-fogged. "Just push. It's okay." _It's gonna drive me fucking crazy and I want way more than I can have, but it's definitely okay._

Mark takes him at his word and starts pushing slowly inside -- faster than he thinks he should, but not as fast or as hard as the desperation in Keanu's voice seems to want. "God, so hot," he growls softly, twisting his finger inside Keanu's body as he continues stroking him.

Keanu's breath stops and he goes still; he nods his head just enough to let Mark know he can go on. Mark, he's discovered, can have anything he wants. It's just a matter of time before Mark discovers that, too. Keanu can't quite bring himself to be afraid of that day, though.

"Do you want to come like this?" Mark asks, looking up. "Do you want more, or is this...?"

"I always want more," Keanu whispers. "But I can live with this." And there's so much more to that than he means, he wants more from Mark than he thinks Mark wants. Still, he can't keep himself from pushing down harder on Mark's hand.

"If you want more," Mark answers, and he starts pressing a second finger to that tight hole, his other hand still slick on Keanu's erection, "then I want to give you more." He begins pushing inside, listening to Keanu's voice, and says, "Tell me if I hurt you."

_You're not going to--_ Keanu almost says, but then that extra push gets in and his breath catches. "Fuck," he chokes out. "Don't stop." He raises his arms to brace himself on the headboard and then pushes, trying to get more of Mark in him.

"Two's -- not enough?" Mark says with a grin, and he starts thrusting into him in time with his strokes, slick sounds of lube and the ragged hitching of Keanu's breath, and _god, if I could get hard again I could have him, I could fuck him, now, just like this, he'd let me,_ and his cock stirs at the image, wants it, but it's too soon. He stretches Keanu open, starts pressing a third finger inside. "Christ, you're beautiful like this," he breathes.

Mark's doing it, pushing in with more, and suddenly Keanu's right there. "Don't stop," he gasps again, and he grabs Mark's wrist, pushing down on his hand, and then he drives his hips up, going stiff and tense all over as he comes, mouth open and letting out ragged, broken cries.

Keanu's climax catches Mark by surprise, and he watches as though he'd never seen anyone come before, watches Keanu's face, and the way he jerks and tightens, his cock spasming as he spills himself and the _ohgod_ tight sudden clench of his body around Mark's fingers.

He doesn't begin to draw out until Keanu's breathing comes back and starts to steady, and then he's crawling up Keanu's body to kiss him.

Keanu swallows, trying to wet his mouth, and then he kisses back, letting out a heavy, satiated groan into it. "Jesus, Mark," he whispers when the kiss breaks, and then he laughs, just because the release was so _huge_.

Mark laughs with him, and he drops his head down to kiss the bend of Keanu's throat. "So it was okay?" he says, grinning. "It was good?"

"It was okay, yeah," Keanu quips, doing a crappy job of sounding blase and bored. "God." He rolls up over Mark and kisses him hotly, whispering in between, "Want you to fuck me next time." It seems like such a big confession, maybe more than Mark wants to hear, but it'll tell Keanu a lot, just hearing Mark's response to it.

"Oh, fuck yes," Mark growls, clutching at Keanu's shoulders. "God, I wanted to then," and he laughs, gives Keanu a nip. "Would've if I hadn't just come so hard."

Keanu has to laugh again at the sheer heat of Mark's answer, but then he goes serious again, stroking Mark's hair. "It wouldn't be too much? I don't want to freak you out."

"No, I think it'd be great," Mark says, and if he feels a nervous little twist he tries not to let it show, because he does want it. He wants it a lot. "I mean you'd -- we -- you might have to kinda talk me through it again," he says with a little crooked smile.

Grinning again, Keanu tugs Mark to him and kisses him. "I kinda like talking you through this stuff," he says.

"Yeah? That's good," Mark says, laughing, "'cause I get the feeling you may be doing a lot of it."

"Just the first time," Keanu grins back.

* * * *

Mark laughs again and rolls off Keanu, drapes his arm across his chest. "Hey," he says, glancing towards the window; the light has dimmed to evening, and Mark kisses Keanu's throat. "You got dinner plans?" he asks.

"No," Keanu says automatically, but then he realizes that Mark's probably not taking him _home_ to eat, and by the state of the place, Mark can probably tell Keanu has jack in the apartment to eat, and that means they have to either go out or order in, and Keanu's surviving cash has dropped down to less than it was last night. "I mean -- no," he sighs after a minute, shaking his head. He guesses it's clear he hasn't got any money, either.

"You hungry?" Mark rolls back on top of Keanu and grins. "I'm starving, and there's a new Japanese fusion place that's opened up I've been wanting to try. It's gotten great reviews. Come with me."

Keanu doesn't really have anything to wear to someplace like a Japanese fusion restaurant, and he doesn't want to advertise how broke he is, but that's getting overruled the more he thinks about it, because he wants to spend that time with Mark.

"Okay," he says quietly, and nods. "Let me dig up something to put on."

"Anything'll do," Mark says. "I'm going just like this," and then he laughs. "Well, I mean I'll brush my hair, probably, but yeah, it's very downtown, way too hip to bother with ties or that shit."

Keanu looks at what Mark's in and glances away; he might be able to come up with something approaching that. Maybe. The thing is, Mark looks so put together, and he doesn't even try, Keanu would bet.

_Just knock it off. He's trying to take you out to dinner._ And put like that, all Keanu wants to do is go. Now.

"Okay," he says, and smiles. "I'll throw something a little better than this on."

"You'll look great no matter what you wear," Mark says with a grin, and he watches Keanu as they dress, thinking just how true it is. He can imagine Keanu dressing for a board meeting or a client call -- any kind of client -- or a night out with friends with equal ease, wouldn't need to spend the time that Mark does dithering over whether to wear the red power tie or the more approachable navy stripe, or whether the white tee-shirt and jeans will be good enough if he throws the D&amp;G sport coat over it or should he go with the button-down shirt instead, or will that be _too_ business-casual for the bar they're going to?

No, Keanu will look right no matter what he wears, because if he walked into a black-tie event in blue jeans, everyone there would suddenly feel overdressed.

Keanu, however, doesn't know anything about power ties or black ties, and his clients, most of them, don't care beyond the fact that his ass is bare; the rest of it could be gone, or shoved up to the small of his back and down to the backs of his knees. He'd either ask Mark what a D&amp;G is or he'd pretend he knows so he doesn't sound stupid.

But as he pulls on the only fake Polo shirt he owns (the logo is neither a polo player nor an alligator but some munged animal Keanu thinks might be a dog), he knows he likes the way Mark's looking at him. That makes Keanu forget he's just a whore who moonlights as an internet bootlegger and lives on ramen and yesterday's batches of doughnuts.

Mark's starting to make him feel like a person. It's a little scary.

"Come on," he says, voice a little rough, and tips his head down to grin. "You keep staring at me like that and I'll forget I need to eat."

Mark laughs, and hops off the bed to catch Keanu up in a quick, hard hug. "I'll remind you," he says. "You ready?"

"Yeah." Keanu hooks a hand at the back of Mark's neck and tugs him close for a quick, no-nonsense kiss before they head out.

As they're leaving the Brownstone, one of Keanu's neighbors, a round-faced little girl in cornrows and a yellow dress, whistles at him. It's clearly something she's just learned because her front teeth have recently gone to the Tooth Fairy, and she's grinning like a little maniac when she does it.

"Why you look so good, Keen?" she teases him.

"Funeral," he grins back, tugging one of her braids affectionately.

"Lookit," and she's distracted completely, as children are, by the glory of herself. She points to the gap in her teeth and then wriggles her tongue through it.

"Hey," he laughs, "that's great, Letty." He bends down and stage-whispers conspiratorially, "Bang on my door later and I'll give you a little Snickers, see if we can make the rest fall out."

"I heard that!" comes a thickly-accented feminine voice from a window above them, and Keanu laughs again. "Leticia, come in an' wash for dinner. Keanu, I'm'a beat you with a spoon!" But she's grinning, too, even as she draws back from the window and starts running the water in the kitchen sink.

Mark watches all this with a sense of bemused affection, and for the first time he begins to feel how completely out of place he is here. Keanu's at home, he's part of the neighborhood; Mark feels like an interloper, hands in his pockets and a shy smile, and he thinks he couldn't look more awkward if he had a sign around his neck that said "Corporate Slag."

He doesn't remember the last time he spoke to anyone under twenty. He doesn't know his next door neighbors' names, doesn't even know which of them are single or married or whether they have pets. The people in his building have as much bearing on one another as the silk plants in the lobby do.

He wishes suddenly and hotly that he were driving a different car, and hopes maybe Matt was right when he cracked that the Maserati looks just like a Kia Spectra.

Keanu waves to Letty as she trots off, and he's quiet until they're situated in the car. "Believe it or not, she's helped me deal with a lot," he confesses, buckling is seatbelt. "She's also why I don't bring johns home."

And suddenly a lot of things start to become clear for Mark. The engine starts with a soft growl, and he checks his mirrors and pulls out onto the narrow street. "She's really cute," he says, willing his heart to slow down.

_Doesn't take johns home,_ he thinks, _which means that's never been what this is about, not since the minute he said we could go to his place,_ and he's careful not to grip the wheel too tightly, careful not to let on that his pulse is racing and he's having to struggle to keep the surprise out of his voice. _He just wanted it. No wonder he got so mad. Christ, I'm an asshole._

"How old is she?" he asks, glancing at Keanu and seeing him again for the first time, and he wants him more than ever.

"Seven," Keanu says, smiling faintly. "Her mom's one of the most fantastic people I've ever met and her dad is, you know, the classic absent deadbeat prick. But God, you can't get that little girl down for _anything._" He grins wider and adds, "One of these days, Ama's really going to beat the shit out of me for slipping Letty those Snickers."

Laughing, Mark shakes his head. "You kidding?" he says. "You just smile big at her and she'll forgive you." He drops his hand from the gear shift to give Keanu's leg a quick squeeze.

"It seems like it'd be really cool," he says after a moment. "Having an actual neighborhood, I mean. People who'd notice if you weren't around for a few days."

"Ama'd notice," Keanu agrees solemnly, "mostly because Letty would." He tilts his head and looks at Mark. "Ama would like you," he says, "and so would Letty."

"You think so?" Mark says, glancing at Keanu. "I don't know...I don't know much about kids." He chuckles and shakes his head. "It's stupid, maybe, but I always feel kind of intimidated by them. It's like, they know so much, the know, like, all the secrets of the universe that we've forgotten, but then they'll look up at you with those big eyes, and some of them you think you could tell them anything and they'd believe you, even if they knew you were wrong, and some of them they know it all so perfectly and they know you don't."

He laughs again, a little huffing sound. "Man, listen to me," he says. "If the guys at the office knew I was intimidated by a seven-year-old they'd be bringing their kids to every meeting."

"So then you just take Letty along, and she'd even things out for you no matter how many kids you have against you," Keanu laughs. He gives Mark a sidelong look, distracted suddenly. "So that's really what you do, huh? You're a corporate bigwig? What company?"

Swallowing, Mark waves his hand vaguely, saying, "Oh, you know. Family business. I'm nothing much -- minor VP in an unfashionable division. Mostly I just push numbers around."

Keanu's stomach falls. _He doesn't want me to know,_ he realizes, and it's too early for that to sting, but it does. He nods his head, trying to look thoughtful and not pensive, and turns to look at the passing street.

"It's totally boring," Mark says when Keanu doesn't answer, and he glances at him, then back at the road. "It's the kind of thing that makes people's eyes glaze over when I talk about it," he says, then sighs.

"Or if not that," he murmurs, "it makes people I didn't like in the first place latch onto me like fucking vultures, and makes people I think I'd like start looking at me like I'm some weird sort of exhibit at the zoo. 'Here we have the fledgling CEO,'" he says, dropping his voice and affecting a rather good English accent. "'When fully grown, he'll have a wingspan from Germany to California and will eat his own weight in smaller companies each day.'"

That makes Keanu laugh, just the inescapable bitter wit behind it. "Yeah, well," he sighs, "everybody's a whore somehow, I guess." He looks at Mark, a little disappointed. "You don't seriously think I'm gonna have a problem with you over what you _do_ for a living, do you?"

Mark blushes, glancing away. "No, not with what I do, no," he says, and he shakes his head, scowling. "But shit, Keanu. Friends of mine who make damned easy livings still get weird about how much I make, how much --" _how much I'll inherit, who my fucking father is_ "--I mean it can just be weird sometimes, you know? I mean when you just wanna buy dinner for someone, right?" he says, still scowling, "just because you like 'em or it's their birthday or something, and you've gotta think about 'now what's nice enough to make it a treat but something they could afford if they really wanted to,' because the last three times you bought someone dinner someplace they _couldn't_ afford they wound up getting all weird and acting like they thought they _owed_ you something 'cause they couldn't afford to take you someplace just as nice, and everything becomes this big weird -- fucking _calculation_."

That gives Keanu a little flush of guilt; he just got done doing the flip side of that same spiel in his own head. "Maybe, though," he says very quietly, "it's weird from this side, too." He doesn't know what more to say and isn't even sure he should've said that much. But he turns to Mark a little, resting a hand on Mark's thigh. "If you don't worry about it, I won't either, okay?" _Or I'll try._

Smiling, Mark covers Keanu's hand with his own. "It's a deal," he says.

Just like that, the comfort's back between them. It's a relief, but more than that, it feels less like they're on the tenuous edge of constant sex with nothing holding it together and more like they're on the inside of the beginning of a friendship.

By the time they're in the restaurant, situated, Keanu's feeling better about everything. It feels like something's shifted, now; they can talk and be together and Keanu doesn't feel funny sitting in a restaurant whose menu sports per-head prices that would cover half his expenses for a week. He's here with Mark, and that by itself feels good.

"So, the review I read," Mark says as he looks over the menu, "recommended the kelp salad or the yellowtail with caviar for starters, and the the omakase sashimi, the uh, braised duck that I can't pronounce the sauce, the crispy rock shrimp, and the Peruvian style spicy salmon skewers." He frowns a little, eyebrows drawing together. "I'm thinking the yellowtail and the duck or the shrimp. I'm not much for kelp."

"Oh, my God," Keanu laughs quietly, shaking his head. "Man, there's no way I can bullshit my way out of this. You're gonna have to help me. I've never even _looked_ at kelp or caviar." _Never mind that stuff I can't pronounce._ Somehow, now, in spite of that fact, he's not so worried about this anymore. He knows Mark will get it and won't look at him like he's second-class.

Mark grins. "I'll tell you what we're gonna do, then," he says. "We'll get the kelp and the yellowtail, and we'll get the duck and the sashimi and the rock shrimp, and we'll put it all in the middle and share, how's that?"

Nodding, Keanu puts his menu aside a little gratefully. "That sounds great. I wouldn't know what to get anyway." He gives Mark a smile, one that's a little deeper than strictly necessary for a public place.

"Excellent," Mark says, and he holds Keanu's gaze for long enough that he's starting to blush by the time he glances away. "I'm so glad you're doing this with me," he says. "I love getting to introduce people to new stuff," and he laughs and adds, "So I hope the reviewer didn't just come on their one good night and it lives up to its press. Oh!" he says suddenly as the waiter re-appears, "have you ever had sake? The sake cocktails here are s'posed to be gorgeous, but I'm thinking maybe just a nice crisp white might work better with dinner."

"No," Keanu replies. "I'll try anything, though. Whatever you think." And he hands off his menu, smiling at the waiter. "I'm following his lead tonight," he explains casually, hoping like hell he's managing to play this off without embarrassing Mark.

"Because I," Mark says with a grin, "am a great leader. I'll tell you what," he goes on, glancing over the drinks menu. "Since you haven't had it before, we'll go for the sake sampler, which'll give you an idea what it's like before we go tarting it up with sangria and pineapple juice and all that."

He goes on to place their order, and when the waiter's gone again he turns back to Keanu, and he's liking him more and more, the easy way he doesn't try to pretend, doesn't try to put on. "It's kind of an acquired taste for some people," he says. "I didn't know what to think of it the first time I had it, but I've really gotten to like it."

"I'm pretty much a beer guy," Keanu says, "but I like trying new stuff." He glances around; _damn_, this is a nice place, almost uncomfortably nice, if it weren't for the fact that he's with Mark.

"I do too," Mark says, flipping open his napkin. "It's especially good doing it with someone else." He shoots Keanu a little smile. "Some new things are _especially_ good done with someone else."

Keanu grins at that, and he's opening his mouth to retort with something just this side of salacious when the sake arrives. He grins even wider, knowing Mark's probably aware Keanu could come up with a half-dozen sexy analogies for this.

The sake is beautiful, pale perfection like cool silk or warm skin, and Mark watches Keanu as they taste the different kinds, wants to kiss it from Keanu's tongue, wants to pour it along the valley of his spine and lap it up like nectar.

He's going to take Keanu home with him. It's decided as soon as he thinks it. Tonight if Keanu'll come, but if not tonight, then later. Tomorrow or the next night or the next. He wants Keanu in his home.

Keanu'll make it like a home instead of a collection of good taste and muted colors.

"So what do you think?" he asks. "About the sake?"

"I like it," Keanu grins. What he really likes is the way Mark's looking at him. "It tastes different, but it's good." He has to pull his eyes away from Mark's, though, just to keep from turning red or making an ass out of himself.

As he does, though, he notices someone coming toward them. Keanu looks down at his cup, then back up again. Does he--?

_Oh, God._ He does know that guy.

"Hi, Nate," the guy greets cheerily, looking right at Keanu. "What a surprise." He pats "Nate" on the shoulder and gives Mark a nod.

Mark glances at the guy, then at Keanu, who doesn't have the "you've mistaken me for someone else" look on his face, and it's immediately clear to Mark what's going on.

What's strange is that the twist he feels in his chest isn't embarrassment, isn't anger. It's the same twist he feels when he knows there's going to be a fight and that his opponent has seriously underestimated him. Has made the mistake of thinking he's just the boss's son.

He tamps it down. This may be someone Keanu needs to make nice with -- may even like -- and it's too early for Mark to be fucking things up for Keanu, no matter how much he wants to stake a claim right here and now.

"Uh. Hi." And now Keanu _is_ red, and not for a warm, pleasant reason like the heat of the sake and Mark's eyes on him. He looks down at the table, but the guy isn't going away, so he looks up again.

_Yeah, no wonder I didn't recognize you._ When this guy approached Keanu that night, he was in a ratty Sox t-shirt and a denim jacket. Now he's standing in front of Keanu looking more suited to Mark's world than Keanu's.

"Yeah, I, uh, saw you over here," the guy is saying. He'd called himself Ron that night, but that hardly matters now. "I thought I'd come over, say hi." He tugs at a corner of Keanu's shirt lightly, tilting his head, giving Keanu a look that feels oily, and it's only now, when Keanu is as broke as ever but still _happy_ that he wonders how the fuck he ever let this guy touch him.

"Well, hi," Keanu says, squinching his face in a false smile, and he takes up his sake cup again.

"No, I just wondered," and the guy tugs a little more insistently, then rubs the fabric in his fingers as though appraising it. "If you wanted to, you know. Get together for a beer sometime. Next Wednesday? Say around eight?"

Watching this, Mark decides doesn't like Keanu's expression. And he doesn't like the other guy's, either.

And he's never liked being ignored.

He flashes the guy a smile that narrows his eyes. "I don't think we've met," he says. "Mark Lutz."

"We haven't, no," the guy says, but he doesn't extend his hand, just nods his head. "Sorry to interrupt your dinner. I just thought I'd see if I could get together next week with my friend." His expression doesn't change, but Keanu can see something in it that makes it look ugly and smirking. "Maybe you could join us."

"Uhm." Keanu swallows hard and purses his lips; his heart's slamming around inside his chest frantically and he's sure that tells in his voice. "I think, uh." And he forces himself to look at Mark, then at the guy. "I'm really busy these days, I'm--" _Fuck._ And there's no way Keanu can pull out of that mess in time; _working late? pulling overtime?_ There's nothing to say that won't pile more of that smirk onto his former client's face.

"Yeah." The guy's tone is thoughtful; he finally drops his hand away from Keanu's sleeve. "I know how it goes." He throws Mark another look and then drops his eyes to the sake cup Keanu's clutching.

_Piker,_ Mark thinks, and he can feel that twist start to ease into amusement, and he leans back with a slow smile. "Yeah..." he drawls, pulling the short word out like taffy, watching the guy. He almost laughs. "Your friend is busy," he says affably. "Your friend is busy tonight. And he's busy next week. And he's going to be busy, pretty much forever, I'm afraid. So, maybe it's time for you to find a different friend."

All at once, Keanu is biting his lip to keep from laughing. He looks up and raises his eyebrows apologetically. "Sorry."

The client nods tersely, smirk never leaving, and moves off. And all at once, as abruptly as the laughter was threatening, it's gone, and Keanu is lowering his head, shutting his eyes.

"Sorry," he sighs.

"Hey, don't worry about it," Mark says, watching the guy leave, and then he turns back to Keanu with a smile. If not for how uncomfortable it had been making Keanu, Mark'd almost be disappointed the guy hadn't made more of a fuss. A little recreational pissing contest with a guy who so obviously didn't stand a chance might've made for a nice appetizer. "C'mon, look at me," he says softly. "The guy's nothing to you. Zero. Forget it."

_I just didn't want to be reminded of that._ Keanu looks at Mark, wondering how it is he managed to get in so fast, how it is that Keanu's wishing he could do _something_ but whore so he wouldn't have to let guys like that touch him. And he didn't like the implication in that guy's eyes, that Mark was just another john. But he's pretty sure saying any of that would be bad, and Keanu doesn't want to drag the incident on. He wants to forget it.

"Thanks," he says softly. "For sticking up for me."

"Any time," Mark says. He leans forward again, picking up his fork and setting it back down, watching Keanu's hands.

"Listen," he says after a moment. "I don't want you to think I'm trying to pull, like, a 'Pretty Woman' on you or something, but we're constantly hiring for shit at the office -- not, you know, glamorous stuff, but assistants, or guys to work in receiving, or data entry, that kinda thing. It's not gonna buy you a Mercedes, but it'd pay the bills. If you'd be willing to work for the same company I do I can see what we've got open right now. Not," he adds hurriedly, "not that I think there's -- you know, I mean if you wanted to keep... you know," and he nods towards the guy. "Extra money or whatever, I'm not trying to tell you how to run your life. Just. If you wanted."

Keanu turns red again. "How -- uh. How much does it pay?" He drops his eyes again; Mark's earnest expression and the offer itself make Keanu want to confess to too much too soon: _I don't want to keep...you know._ But he has to ask himself why, and there's no answer to that other than Mark's made him feel good about himself and he doesn't think he can go back to people who look at him like _that_ guy did. "Cause...I don't need a Mercedes." He snorts and downs the last of his sake like it's a shot of whiskey and then takes up his chopsticks, rubbing them together like a boy scout.

"It varies," Mark says, trying to push down the excitement he feels, hopeful and hot. "It's all above minimum wage, though," he says, "and there's insurance and vacation and like that. Some of it pays pretty well -- like, the data entry jobs, and some of those you get paid more depending on if you can work the unpopular shifts. Which, y'know," he adds with a shrug, "would suck for me, but you'd still get days off of course and the differential can make it worthwhile."

He laughs then, and crinkles his nose, nervous for the first time since they got here. "I'm sounding like a recruiter, aren't I?" he says. "I don't mean to, I just think you'd do really well. Move up fast, you know?"

"I could do data entry," Keanu nods; he never thought about it before, but it's pretty much already what he does in the daytime anyway. "I kind of...have some database experience." He scratches at his neck and grins.

"Yeah?" Mark says with a grin. "That's _great_ \-- man, database people are always in demand, and if you've got some experience at that you could totally work into something. What kind of experience?"

"Well..." And now Keanu goes red again. "I ah...kinda program. Some. And sometimes I just improve a little on existing programs." He snorts wryly. "Like, pick anything Microsoft did."

Mark's grin broadens, and then he laughs. "Improve, huh?" he says. "Maybe don't mention that part in your interview, yeah?"

"Yeah," Keanu grins back. "I guess I'll leave that part out."

*~*~*

Dinner goes beautifully, Mark thinks. The caviar with the yellowtail is perfect little explosions of salt, not too fishy, and neither of them care for the kelp. The sashimi, shrimp, and duck are all excellent, and when they can't eat any more Mark sends the waiter away with the remainder to box it up for them.

"Since we're taking stuff back anyway," he says, "you wanna order dessert and just have them box it up right off the bat?"

"That sounds good, yeah," Keanu nods. He's full anyway; maybe after whatever activities the evening brings...

"So what do you want to do when we get back?" he asks. "I don't have cable or anything...but I bet now that we've eaten we could work up the energy for something..." He grins crookedly, tipping his head down.

Mark grins back, and his heart is suddenly beating too hard, and he leans forward a little and meets Keanu's eyes. "Actually," he says, "I was kinda hoping you'd come back to my place this time."

Keanu suddenly can't meet Mark's eyes for a minute. "Wow," he says, "wow. Are you sure? I mean -- I _want_ to..." And he looks up again, serious, concerned, hopeful and wanting all at once.

"Yeah," Mark says, nodding. "Yeah. I want to see you in my home. I want to -- I want to smell you on my sheets tomorrow," he murmurs, leaning closer. "I wanna watch you drinking coffee in my kitchen in the morning, reading the paper or eating toast, or -- whatever you do in the mornings. Yeah," he says again. "I'm sure."

"Yeah," Keanu says immediately, nodding almost before Mark's done. "Yeah."

Mark nods again. "Good," he says. "Good." He smiles and leans back, watching Keanu, and it's not even a little surprising to him how _glad_ he is that Keanu agreed. Just glad.

He glances up as the waiter comes by with the dessert tray, and he can't help looking at each of the confections with an eye towards how they'd taste on Keanu's skin.

"I don't know," Keanu says casually, "I'll just have what you're having." He nods to the waiter, smiling his best, and then leans in close as soon as the server is gone. "I'm already crazy about you," he whispers.

"I like that about you," Mark murmurs, and it's all he can do not to kiss him right here and to hell with who sees or whether they care. "Makes me feel not so alone in being crazy about you."

"You know," Keanu says, "It's been, like, two days."

Mark shrugs. "Isn't that when you're supposed to be crazy about someone?" he asks.

Keanu grins. "I guess so," he shrugs, turning red again. "Let's go. I want to see your place."

Keanu's just a little nervous as Mark drives them to his place. It's not enough that he's riding in one of the finest cars he's ever looked at (and that would include posters), never mind sat in, but now they're about to go to Mark's _house_, which Keanu suspects is insanely expensive. He hopes he can keep from gawping like an idiot.

"So, um..." he starts, and shifts a little in his seat, glancing over at Mark as he drives, and then the only thing that'll come out of his mouth is something utterly stupid: "...what do you want to do when we get there?"

Mark's been anxious too, but when he glances at Keanu now, nervousness bright in those amber eyes, his own anxiety starts to dissipate. Keanu's a little scared too, not some perfectly cool, collected hipster who's laughing behind his hand at Mark's boarding school cred.

He reaches for Keanu's hand and kisses his knuckles, murmurs, "I want to lick cold sake from the small of your back. But we can watch a movie or something first if you want."

Keanu almost laughs at the idea of watching a movie first, then almost shivers at the idea of that mental image. Of all the unusual and sometimes just undeniably weird things he's done for people (or had done to him), that one would go down as the most exotic, he thinks.

"We can pretend to watch a movie while we make out," he grins, dropping his hand high on Mark's thigh and squeezing.

"Oh man, that sounds perfect," Mark says with an answering grin, and just the touch of Keanu's hand on his thigh is electric, makes his cock twitch and stiffen like he was in high school again. And if Keanu's not into the sake idea, well... Mark'll try it on him again later, see if he comes around. He has a feeling that he'll want to spend hours just mapping the valley of Keanu's spine, the perfect curve, the dimple at the small of his back, the way the muscles work beneath his hands. He wants to taste it, wants to taste every inch of him. _Mark him,_ he realizes suddenly, so that even if he's with someone else, Mark will always be there.

He's surprised by the unexpected rush of possessiveness, and he reaches for Keanu's hand again and squeezes it, reminds himself he's not the guy's boyfriend. _Not yet, anyway,_ he thinks. "We're almost there," he says. "Should we stop and get a movie, or do you trust me to have something worth ignoring while we make out?"

"I trust you." Keanu doesn't care what plays in the background, anyway. He looks down at Mark's hand holding his and thinks about how different it feels to just hold someone's hand. When was the last time he did that? High school? Back when he was pretending to like girls? He smiles at Mark again.

Mark thinks he's going to get addicted to that smile. By the time they're pulling into his unit's garage, he's already told Keanu three of his best dirty jokes just to see if he can get a laugh out of him, and he doesn't _think_ Keanu's just been laughing to be polite. They don't seem like the 'oh, yeah, heh heh, good one,' kind of pained _oh my god, please make him stop_ laughs, and Mark's charmed as hell by the way Keanu keeps covering his face when he does it. It makes him want to tie his hands and make him laugh again, tickle him all night or something.

He kills the engine and punches the button to close the garage door. "C'mon," he says. "The light goes out in a minute and let me tell you, it's fucking _scary_ dark in here when the light goes out."

Keanu's still grinning. He follows Mark out and then into the house, and once he gets inside he's struggling not to stare around him at the tasteful and yet obviously lush furnishings. "Wow," he half-laughs. "Beats hell out of my house."

"Eh, it's just a bunch of stuff," Mark answers, waving dismissively, but then it occurs to him that if Keanu _likes_ his stuff, he's that much more likely to stay, and he resolves to like his stuff better himself. He turns to grin at Keanu, walking backwards into the kitchen and flicking on a light. "You want a beer or something?"

"Sure, that sounds good." Keanu loves that grin right now, and he grabs Mark's hand, then a belt loop to drag him close. "C'mere." He cups a hand at the side of Mark's neck and kisses him slowly.

"Mmmm, I like that," Mark murmurs against Keanu's lips, and he slides his arms around him and kisses him again, slanting their mouths together and teasing inside. Beer can wait, sake can wait - suddenly Keanu's the only thing Mark's interested in tasting.

It's so weird, how good it is to kiss Mark; Keanu isn't sure how that happened, but somehow he has the feeling he couldn't do without Mark's hungry, intense kisses. It's too soon to be thinking like that, but as he backs Mark up against the kitchen counter, he knows it's true.

Mark hitches his arms tighter around Keanu, his stiffening cock pressing against that warm, lean body, and he deepens the kiss with a soft growl. In the back of his mind he can still see that guy, looking at Keanu like he owned him or something, and it's awakened an answering possessiveness in Mark that's entirely unexpected and dangerous - hypocritical and untenable, and probably unwelcome. But Mark just kisses him harder and doesn't care. He's never been so sure of what he wanted, never wanted anything this way, not even Matt. And if his dad would hate him and his friends laugh at him, he doesn't care. His heart is pounding high in his chest, and this is what he wants.

But he doesn't want Keanu thinking that _all_ he wants is what Keanu sells to guys like that asshole at the restaurant. He cards his fingers into Keanu's hair and makes a light fist, gives him a little shake and grins. "We'll never get the movie in like this."

"Maybe not," Keanu says, but his tone isn't very sorry about that. "Maybe we don't really need background noise to make out on your couch." He gives Mark another little shove, making him feel the counter behind him. "If we make it that far." And then he's kissing Mark again, too addicted to stop even for the banter that's just one small difference between Mark and every other guy Keanu's been with.

A soft grunt and Mark pushes into it, digging his fingers into Keanu's back and swallowing those kisses down like wine. A lifetime of wanting is finally getting its way, all the nights wondering, wishing he had the nerve, jerking off frantically to images of being pushed against a wall or held down by hands as strong as his own, and no girl, no matter how eager or aggressive, has ever made him feel it the way Keanu does.

"Counter, couch, I don't care," he breathes, and he's biting at Keanu's mouth, devouring him. "Just want you."

_Yeah._ Keanu digs his fingers into the small of Mark's back, mouth sliding hungrily over Mark's. So fucking perfect, Mark is, so eager and unquestioning even though it's all so new to him. Keanu wants...God, Keanu just wants. He can't think past the desperation to have Mark _right now_, again, right here on the kitchen counter. "Feels so good," he groans, meaning Mark's body up against his and being here and basically everything.

"Get this off," Mark says, tugging at Keanu's shirt, then losing commitment and dragging him close again, kissing him hard as he fumbles at his belt.

Twisting, grinning a little as he tries to sustain the kiss a few more seconds, Keanu manages to peel out of his shirt, dropping it on the floor. He loves how Mark can't get enough of him -- Keanu couldn't have hoped for anything like this when he first spotted the preppy sportscar-driving CEO type that night.

"Wait," he breathes at once, and then has to lean in and give Mark another kiss, and another. "I wanna do it in your bed." It sounds amateurish and sort of silly even as he says it, but that doesn't make it any less true.

Mark's eyes widen and a rush of heat floods through him. "Oh...oh _fuck_ yes," he answers, grabbing Keanu into another desperate kiss, one hand sliding over his throat to curl into his hair. "Yes, bed, yes," he breathes between hungry kisses, "god, I want you there, want to smell you on my sheets tomorrow, c'mon," urging Keanu towards the hallway.

Just that confession heats Keanu up more, and he follows quickly. The bedroom...it's like nothing Keanu's ever been in, and he's only seen this sort of thing on television. It's all clean lines and hardwood, the bedspread simple and classy. He feels a hot flush of embarrassment now; Mark's seen what kind of a dump Keanu lives in, with the computer stuff everywhere and the scrawny little mattress.

He pushes the thoughts away and grabs Mark, trying to get him naked and into that huge, fat-looking bed.

It's an easy job, too, with Mark helping every stumbled step of the way, popping open Keanu's fly as Keanu pulls Mark's shirt up, and he strips it off and then they're falling onto the bed half-dressed and so eager, Mark kissing every part of Keanu he can get to.

"God," Keanu groans, dragging Mark against him. "You feel so fucking good." He never would have thought that a _body_ could feel so good pressed to his own, not after everything he's put up with from johns, but Mark isn't even in the same class. Keanu spreads his legs, hooking a calf behind Mark's knee and grinding up gently, hitching out another broken noise.

"Oh, Christ, d'you have any idea what those _sounds_ you make do to me?" Mark groans, sliding his hand into Keanu's hair and fisting lightly, tipping his head back to nuzzle the perfect column of his throat. His cock is stiff and aching, pushing against Keanu's hip as Mark squirms against him, and Keanu's pulse is tripping against his lips, that unbelievably lean and sweet body moving beneath him with breath and wanting, and he searches for more of those broken sounds, answers them with hungry little noises of his own.

"Yeah," Keanu answers, canting his head back further, but to explain that he gets it because Mark's noises do the same thing to him just seems like a lot of words.

"Mark," he groans after a minute, dragging Mark back up to his mouth to kiss him. He gets lost in it, then brings himself back around to what he wanted to say: "Want you to fuck me. I want you in me, right now."

"You want me - now?" Mark asks, kissed breathless and his voice shaky, heat in his belly and his cock twitching. "Tonight? Are you sure? I mean I don't want to hurt you."

"You're not gonna hurt me," Keanu promises. He nudges up to kiss Mark again, cupping a hand at the back of Mark's neck. "I promise. I'll tell you what you need to do. It'll be good." God, and he hopes Mark will hurry and say yes so Keanu can hurry and teach him, because he doesn't think he can wait any longer.

But Mark's already pushing the rest of the way out of his jeans, one hand splayed on Keanu's chest and he can't keep his eyes off him, bitten lips and his cheeks flushed. All Mark's earlier confidence is fumbling and eager now, tugging Keanu's jeans down over lean hips and thighs, and one day he's going to take his time with this, savor every inch of the gorgeous and still-unfamiliar body, but now he just wants to feel it moving, bucking beneath him.

Mark's rushing, Keanu can tell. He grabs Mark's wrists and hangs on, trying to still him, then just rolls over atop him and pins him to the bed.

"Listen," he breathes, smiling, "it's okay. Relax. Just...trust me. You can take me. You're not going to hurt me." He leans down to kiss Mark slowly, and it's surprising to realize that he wants this as much as he does.

"Nngh...fuck," Mark groans, grinding up against him, and the weight of Keanu's body and the snug fit of his hands around Mark's wrists are making his cock jerk, his body tight and wanting. "I trust you," he breathes. "I want you, fuck, I want you. Every way I can get you."

"You've got me," Keanu murmurs seriously. It should feel like too much to admit to so soon, but Mark is so different -- not just different from the johns Keanu deals with, but from _everyone_. He clears his throat and turns back to the matter at hand: "Do you want me to do the prep, or you want me to tell you how?"

"I -- shit," Mark blinks, the memory of that tight heat around his fingers coming back to him in a rush. But they're both eager for it, Mark maybe too much so, wanting so much so fast, wanting everything all at once, and if Keanu has to talk him through this.... "I - I don't know. How do you...what would you rather?"

"Might be quicker if I do it," Keanu grins, stroking his thumbs along the tender insides of Mark's wrists. "I don't need a lot of prep, anyway." Hell, he doesn't _want_ a lot of prep; he wants to throw himself down on Mark and ride him right now.

The soft touches are sending shivers up Mark's arms that seem to shoot straight from there to his cock, and he swallows and grins up at Keanu, squirming a little. "Keep that up and I'm guessing you can do anything you want," he says.

"Yeah?" Keanu leans down and pulls Mark's wrist up toward his mouth, licking and kissing at the soft skin before dragging his teeth over it. "Like that?"

"God, it's fucking electric," Mark groans, his cock jerking with every touch, and his fingers twitch into a loose fist, uncurl, fist again. "How did I not know that?"

"Most people don't pay attention to wrists," Keanu explains. "Or the backs of necks. Or the insides of thighs. There's a lot to play with." God, and he'd love to show Mark all of that, but right now he's so horny he feels like his cock's going to break. "I'll give you a demonstration later," he grins, leaning up to catch Mark's mouth again before asking, "Where's your lube?"

"Where's my -- ...oh, fuck," Mark groans, mentally scrambling through his medicine cabinet as if he can make lube appear where none was before, and he thumps his head against the coverlet, frustrated with his own lack of foresight. "All I've got is lubricated condoms. That's not gonna be enough, is it."

Keanu feels a little like an ass, too: straight guys don't keep lube around, and Keanu didn't have the foresight to bring his own. "It'll be enough," Keanu promises. "We'll just go slow." He gives Mark a wolfish grin and sucks two fingers into his mouth, running his tongue over and between them lewdly.

All Mark can manage in response is a sort of desperate groan, and he tips his head back and grinds up again, the groan turning to laugh. "God, your mouth should be registered as a lethal weapon," he says breathlessly. "Condoms are in the... thing," he says, nodding towards the bedside table but making no move to get his remaining wrist out of Keanu's grip. "Drawer. See? I'm losing the power of speech."

"Always a good sign." Keanu leans over for the condoms, wanting to get that out of the way before he goes any further. Of course now his fingers are wet, so he grins and swears quietly as he fumbles with the wrapper. "You've damaged my ability to plan ahead, if that makes you feel better," he says, unrolling the condom onto Mark's cock.

"It does," Mark laughs, digging his fingers into the bed and trying to keep still for Keanu. It's hard, though, _he's_ hard, so hard he's afraid he might come before they even get started. "Glad to know I'm not - not - oh, Jesus," his voice sliding into a groan as Keanu gets the latex rolled down to the base of his erection, and he holds tight to his thready control.

"Hang on for me, big boy," Keanu teases, and he licks those fingers again and pushes them into himself, giving Mark a heavy groan. It's not all for show, but he wants to give something that'll turn Mark on -- this is the first time he's been torn between his job and Mark, torn between what he knows and what he _wants_.

But Mark isn't thinking about what Keanu knows, has forgotten the guy in the restaurant, has forgotten the sake, can't think of anything but the unbelievably sexy sight of Keanu's fingers disappearing into his own body. Mark's cock jerks, twitches. "You -- are totally trying to kill me," he breathes, half-laugh. "God, Keanu, please.... I don't know how much longer I _can_ hang on when you're doing that."

"Just...a little longer." Keanu works his fingers, just trying to get himself relaxed enough to take Mark in, and then he's pulling them out and straddling Mark's hips, grabbing the base of Mark's cock to steady it. He's watching Mark closely, waiting to see that look on his face that says Keanu's given him more bliss than a man should be allowed to have all at once.

"Oh... oh_god_, please, Keanu," Mark breathes, groans, his hands clenching on Keanu's hips and probably making bruises as he pushes up, the head of his cock pressing Keanu's entrance and his whole body seeming to ache with wanting. Keanu's eyes are unreadable, all Mark can see in them is that he wants this too, that he's almost as desperate for it as Mark is - but not quite, and Mark almost has to laugh in frustration 'cause if Keanu were as desperate as Mark is, Mark'd be inside him already.

Grinning, Keanu slides down all at once -- he's not a prostitute for nothing -- and then groans as Mark strikes him just right. "Fuck," he pants, "God, Mark, _yeah._"

All Mark can do is let out a choked sound, arching helplessly under Keanu. It's like nothing he's felt, so different from a woman's snug heat, and the rasp in Keanu's voice when he says Mark's name, the heat he says it with, it curls up inside Mark like a hand and grabs onto him. He clutches at Keanu's thighs as Keanu starts to move.

Keanu groans, arching up a little and covering Mark's hands with his own. It seems almost sentimental, that gesture, but it doesn't really bother him. Not right now, not with Mark. Rare is the john who wants actual tenderness from him, and he always feels funny giving it -- like cloaking something bitter in caramel and hoping the person biting down doesn't notice. But this is _real_, more real than anything Keanu's ever had, and he's stuck for a way to express that.

Mark laces their fingers together, tugging at Keanu. He wants him down here in his arms and he wants him to just keep _doing_ that, that slow rocking arch that's driving Mark crazy.

That's perfect. Keanu drops down, pinning Mark's hands to the bed by virtue of their entwined fingers, and kisses him hard. The angle's different, and the rocking arch is more of a deep grind, but it's not like any kind of movement won't be fantastic right now.

"Jesus," Mark groans, swallowing hard and drawing his knees up, pushing into Keanu in ragged little thrusts, each one a jolt of aching heat that makes his cock jerk and twitch. "Please, God, baby, you feel so good...."

That _baby_ rocks through Keanu hard, and he shoves one arm under Mark's shoulders in a rough kind of hug, kissing him again. "Fuck," he groans, "Mark..." and he drags one of Mark's hands down to his cock, bucking up into it. "Close. Close already, _Jesus._"

"Do it, do it," Mark gasps, and Keanu's cock is silky skin over hot steel in his fist as he strokes him off, his own body drawn tight as a wire, trembling. "I want it, do it baby, please --"

"Nnngh--" Keanu tenses all over, teeth gritted as the orgasm explodes over him. He throws himself down hard, taking Mark in sharply as he comes, panting desperately, watching Mark's face.

Mark's just a few desperate thrusts behind him when Keanu's release spills across his belly, and his climax jerks through him like a bolt of electricity. He hitches up, grinding into Keanu with his head thrown back and his eyes squeezed shut, open-mouthed and gasping.

Groaning, Keanu melts down into Mark, tucking his face into Mark's neck. "Jesus," he whispers, nudging in closer and then sighing, stroking his fingers over Mark's shoulder.

Mark wraps his arms loosely around Keanu and kisses his hair, his neck. If he didn't feel so good, he'd be sorry it's over already, but with Keanu languid on top of him it's hard to be sorry about anything for long. Their bodies are sweat-slicked and sticky with come, and the smell of sex is heady. He grins and tilts his head back to try to see Keanu. "That was awesome."

"Yeah?" Keanu smiles, sliding one hand down the side of Mark's face. "It was for me, too." He swallows, then admits what he thinks he should have all along: "I really like you."

It tingles like pop-rocks, or touching electricity, and Mark's heart leaps. His smile goes impossibly wide. "Yeah?" he says. "Yeah, seriously? Because I _really_ like you back."

"I'm glad." Keanu closes his eyes, sighing happily. "God. I could pass out right now. What a day. You're amazing."

"You should totally pass out right now," Mark grins, threading his fingers into the damp hair at Keanu's nape. He can picture waking up with Keanu still there, and the picture is good. Better than good. Good enough that he thinks if Keanu tries to leave, maybe he'll just block the door or something. "I swear I won't shave your eyebrows off or anything," he adds. "You're completely safe."

Keanu cracks up. "Man, you scare me," he grins, but he droops off to one side and then immediately presses closer again, pushing a leg between Mark's and nuzzling into his throat. "We can eat later. I make a mean package of ramen."

Mark laughs and twists to kiss Keanu's jaw, draping an arm across him. "I don't think I can move right now anyway," he says, doing a quick mental inventory of his kitchen. They may have to run out to _get_ ramen, but that's okay with Mark. As long as Keanu comes back with him, anything's all right.


End file.
